


Say You Will (Or That You Wish You Could)

by Friedcheesemogu



Category: Attack on Titan, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Anal Sex, Books, Bookstore AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, Older Characters, Older but not necessarily any kind of wiser, Oral Sex, Retail, Slow Burn, Ymir's bad ideas, additional pairings may appear as time goes on, bad language, booksnobbery, jaded but still excited by cookies, not even friends to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 115,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Friedcheesemogu/pseuds/Friedcheesemogu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bookstore AU. At Survey Books, 27 year old Marco Bodt is lucky enough to be friends with everyone he works with, until grade-A jerk Jean Kirchstein transfers from another store, and in spite of his bad attitude, Marco can’t seem to help but fall for him. Too bad Jean is oblivious and/or just plain stubborn, and everyone else thinks this is Marco’s worst idea ever. But in retail, you end up spending a lot of time with your coworkers regardless of what you want, and Marco will do his best to make every interaction with Jean count until they get somewhere. Or at least until Jean gets less awful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for SNK, and my first fic not posted on my own LJ in...I don't even know how many years. It features art by the incredible [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), and was betassisted by Heichousquad ([ToriColourBastia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/works) and [Fini](vriskajerket)) and [monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks). The title is from ["The Nerve," by The Republic Tigers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtPdUnR20WE), which may as well be one of Marco's theme songs here.

“Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails is a rough song. Marco knows that. There were some dark times in early high school when he used to sit on his bed and listen to it on loop and wonder if his body would ever stop feeling so tall and ungraceful, if he’d ever figure out why he was apparently attracted to everything under the sun short of his kitchen chairs, if his friends really liked him or just humored him because he was the requisite mostly nice guy who got good grades and took reliable notes.

That was a long time ago, though, and Marco’s reached the point in his life where looking back on all the drama of his teenage years seems both amusing and tiring, and mostly gets brought up for laughs when he’s out drinking with his friends and coworkers. Aside from that whole septic gall-bladder thing, he’s been lucky in this life, he thinks.

So he wonders what’s happened in Jean Kirchstein’s life that has the other man sobbing in his passenger seat while they listen to the Johnny Cash cover of a song more than half as old as they are.

Marco knows Jean’s drunk - is surprised he’s drunk, actually, because all the bravado that Jean has exuded in the week they’ve known each other suggested to Marco that Jean had been around the block a few times, or at least across the street. He should have known from the way Jean had started listing sideways after one Corona that he apparently hadn’t even been down the front stairs. At that point, though, it was too late, and it wasn’t until Jean went to the bathroom and didn’t come back for fifteen minutes that Marco realized all the coffee Sasha and Reiner had been plying Jean with was more Irish than Columbian.

While his friends insisted that it wasn’t even “Annie Drunk O’Clock,” which was usually when they left, Marco had insisted that if they let their newest coworker die on the bathroom floor, they’d never be allowed back, and then he’d mostly dragged Jean to his car.

“Hey,” Marco finally says, pulling over somewhere on the street Jean had mumbled might be where he lived. “Jean, are you all right?”

“Don’t look at me!” Jean huddles into himself, arms crossed tightly around his chest. He smells like coffee and alcohol and worse things, but Marco can’t help leaning over and touching his shoulder. He flinches. “Get out of my car, dude!”

“It’s my car.” Marco is known among his friends as having the patience of at least two of the more reasonable saints, but even this is a little trying. He’s been nothing but kind to Jean, who would still be hugging a public toilet if not for him, but the other man is like an angry pinecone wrapped in thorns. “Now are you going to tell me where you live?”

Jean shakes his head “no” and Marco sighs.

“Will you at least tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?” Jean raises his tear-stained face and snuffles a line of snot loudly back into his nose. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Marco stares at him like he’s on fire.

“....you know you’re crying, right? Like, really crying.”

“Oh.” Jean suddenly seems incredibly calm, wiping at his eyes with his dry cracked hands. “It’s...it’s just that I really, really hate Johnny Cash.”

Marco stares at him, and Jean stares back.

“What?” Jean growls, ducking further into his scarf.

“....are you kidding me?”

“Why the fuck would I be kidding about that!”

What’s mildly startling to Marco is that this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, but he has no doubt Jean is telling the truth and he just hates Johnny Cash that much that he has a drunken breakdown in a near-stranger’s car because of it. That seems to be the kind of trainwrecky person he is; an ego the size of a car, an insecurity complex even bigger, and the emotional control of a doorstop.

“That's actually the worst cover I've ever heard, though, seriously.” Jean says, then opens the car door and promptly falls sideways onto the snowy curb. “Ow, my face.”

And extra startling, and frankly a little embarrassing, is that Marco can pinpoint this as the exact moment when he starts to fall in love.

-

Marco Bodt works in a used bookstore. It’s not huge, and it’s not as local as he’d maybe like (they’re part of a nationwide chain), but Survey Books isn’t a terrible place to end up in between ambitions. The staff of store 104, as the assistant manager Hanji describes it, is comprised of “pirates, tramps, thieves and some circus rejects,” and it’s essentially true; from Eren, whose enthusiasm for books about true crime and criminal justice has actually scared customers away to Annie, who once brewed coffee so strong it sent another employee to the hospital, they’re all post-doc rejects and reading junkies and weird hoarders and Marco thinks of them as a kind of freak family. That he’s able to consider all of them friends is a bonus.

About a month an a half ago, at the beginning of December, Marco Bodt had surgery.

Honestly, it shouldn’t have been a big deal; he was just having his gallbladder removed and his life would probably be better for it. It’d been a problem for a while, and retail is a difficult enough without having to smile to customers through searing pain that feels like acid-laced bugs trying to crawl out of your side.

So the operation was planned and everything. It was a routine procedure and he followed all pre-op directions to the letter. He even had his cousin Ymir and her girlfriend Christa to pick him from the hospital. The one thing he didn’t count on was his already corrupted organ taking things one step further and going from simply horrifically stone-ridden to gangrenous. That complicated pretty much everything, leaving him with a large gash in the side and a lot more pain and recovery time than anticipated. Not to mention that the operation itself took several hours longer and Ymir, not a patient woman to begin with, was nearly removed by hospital security when no one would tell her what happened. She ended up being subdued by her tiny girlfriend in a story that would have made Marco laugh if laughing hadn’t been painful and if he hadn’t been drugged to the gills.

But what really bothered Marco -once he’d achieved a lucid state- is that what should have been two weeks off of work turned into a month. During the busiest season of the year. And while his manager Levi assured him in his terrifying monotone that he’d rather have Marco in one efficient piece rather than coming in being all disgusting and unhealed, Marco hated it.

By the time he’s finally allowed to go back to work - actually the day before Christmas - he’s so cheerful that Levi takes one look at him and scowls, throwing a “welcome back” over his shoulder as he goes to hide in his office.

Two things have changed, and he’s appraised of them very quickly by Sasha and Connie, the only members of the crew that have the exact same schedule as each other (because they refused to be separated; the two of them live together but deny any romantic involvement - it’s a standing wager between everyone else when one of them is going to cave and admit their love): one of them is “SUPER EXCITING!” according to Sasha, and the other is “actually a total bummer” according to Connie.

The first is that they’ve been issued headsets by corporate.

The second is a new employee that was hired during Marco’s absence. His name is Jean Kirchstein and he is, apparently, the worst.

In his first week back (Christmas notwithstanding) Marco learns several things about both of these changes. Having headsets to communicate across the store instead of using the intercom, shouting, or running frantically seemed like a good idea on paper. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes painfully clear to everyone that the thing they are most commonly used for is as a means for Connie and Sasha to talk to one another nonstop regardless of where they might be.

And he learns that Jean, while not the worst, is the oddest choice for a customer service employee he’s ever met. He’s brash, rude, and sighs when people ask him for help. He and Eren seem to have started out on terms of pure hate, and they can’t be scheduled at the intake counter together after one shoving incident sent four huge boxes of backstock crashing down on them and Levi’s head nearly blew up in rage. Jean won’t ever take his turn on Starbucks runs and possibly does the worst job of mopping Marco has ever seen.

He’s not friendly, he doesn’t seem interested in even trying to talk to most of his coworkers, and his hair is stupid. Marco eventually finds out Jean apparently further dis-endeared himself to Eren by asking out Eren’s pseudosister Mikasa on his first day, while on the clock, and in the dumbest way possible (Connie insists the phrase “you has pretty hairs” was used); this might have been the cause of the shoving incident, but neither will comment. Jean’s just kind of a walking, talking, narcissistic sack of nails.

So of course Marco is horribly attracted to him.

Just...just his lean physique and sharp features, he’s certain. Jean may have the personality of a particularly rancid dead sloth, but he’s more than nice to look at.

The first time they’re scheduled at intake together, it’s a slow day, so they’re both standing behind the counter pricing, and Marco decides to initiate a getting-to-know-you conversation. It goes as well as expected, which is to say terribly. What Marco determines is that Jean is actually a transfer from the Trost store, he thinks Eren is probably Satan, and he heard so much about how great Marco was during his absence that he frankly doesn’t ever want to talk to him. Marco tries not to take it badly, but he’s a bit discouraged. He’d hoped, maybe foolishly, that if anyone could get Jean to open up just a little, it would be him.

He’s shocked, then, when Reiner invites Jean out to their usual bar after close, and the other man says yes. It’s possible that Reiner is the only person in the store more friendly than Marco, but it might also be that he’s the size of a linebacker and could probably have thrown Jean over his shoulder without a thought if he hadn’t conceded.

But back in this present moment, It only occurs to Marco as he’s watching Jean try to unlock his apartment with his car keys that this whole thing might actually have been Reiner enacting everyone’s revenge on Jean for being such a dick. Well played, Marco thinks, as Jean finally figures out how locks work and pitches forward into his house, slamming the door behind him and locking it before Marco can offer another hand.

Marco knows that if Jean doesn’t show up to work in the morning because he’s dead, no one is going to blame him and will probably feel guilty more for saddling the freckled man with Jean’s company than for his demise. But Marco also knows that he’ll be disappointed. Way too disappointed. Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco attempts to get to know Jean, with dubious success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say that I'm actually honestly stunned by the number of hits and kudos this fic has gotten, and I'm so incredibly honored and grateful I'm actually kind of inarticulate about it. Thank you so much. 
> 
> Also, you should check out the [gorgeous header](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com/post/82510897988/happy-belated-birthday-jean-ive-made-the-cover) by [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), visit my betas, Heichousquad [ToriColourBastia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/works) and [Fini](http://vriskajerket.tumblr.com), and my queen beyond the Wall [monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks).
> 
> And it's worth noting, in case anyone was curious...with very few exceptions, everything that happens within the confines of retail in this fic is something that has happened to me or someone that I know. I've been in customer service almost ten years now. It remains unimaginably weird.

“I see you got Princess Sucksalot home in one piece last night,” is the first thing Eren says to him as Marco arrives for his shift. Eren’s in the break room making fresh coffee, and Marco hangs up his coat and tries not to sag in relief.

“Yeah? He’s already here?” Marco tries to keep his voice neutral. “I thought maybe he’d call in sick.”

Eren scowls.

“Wish he fuckin’ had. I don’t like him being around anyway, and especially since he’s been puking in the bathroom like twice already. He’s lucky Levi is out today, he’d get fired in a heartbeat.”

Marco shudders at the thought.

“Yeah.”

“Armin’s freaked out enough as it is, though, you know how he is about vomit.” Eren’s voice has switched from disdain to concerned fondness. Armin, the store inventory manager, is Eren’s best friend and roommate, the other half of his family aside from Mikasa, and for all of Eren’s own personality failings, the way he takes care of his own is admirable. “I swear to god, Jean comes near him today, next thing he’ll be barfing is his intestines through his nose.”

Marco laughs softly.

“I don’t think that would make Armin feel any better, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment.”

He’s tempted to point out that it’s not entirely Jean’s fault he’s so sick; he has no doubt Eren knows exactly what Reiner and Sasha did, but it probably wouldn’t matter. Poetic justice in Eren’s mind. Marco can’t help feeling badly, though, and waves at Eren before walking onto the floor in search of the Jean.

He finds him staring listlessly at the physics section, book in one hand, scanner in the other, his headset around his neck.

“Hey,” Marco says, putting a hand on Jean’s shoulder, and the other man yelps and nearly smashes the book into his face. “Uh...whoa, easy there.”

“What the fuck!” Jean isn’t lacking any of his usual fire, even if he looks pale and sweaty. “Don’t sneak up on someone like that!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Marco holds up his hands in submission. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Why? What’s it to you?”

“Um, I did drive you home last night. I know what kind of state you were in.”

Jean gives him a suspicious look. Marco is a bit curious as to whether Jean even remembers the hysterical sobbing incident, although if he doesn't, now might not be the time to mention it.

“Like you weren’t in on it.”

Marco furrows his brow. “What?”

Jean sneers.

“You’re all so buddy-buddy here, I know you were probably laughing your ass off about those dickbags getting me drunk. I should have thrown up in your car just to get back at you.”

It actually takes Marco a few moments to figure out how to properly react to this. It’s not in his nature to get into an argument with a coworker on the sales floor, but he’s not really used to people impugning his honor like this.

“Look,” he says finally, using his extra centimeter of height on Jean and not-hungover-ness to look as imposing as possible (he knows it’s not much, but it’s something), backing him into the corner of the shelves. “I had no idea what they were doing, and if you remember, I’m the one who got you out of the bathroom and drove you home. It’s more than you deserve with the attitude you’ve given to everyone since you got here.”

He wants to add that he would have stayed with Jean, made him drink water, tucked him into bed, but it’s embarrassing that he’s even having these thoughts and it might come off as more creepy than friendly or coworker-ly, so he keeps his face stern until Jean gives an exasperated sigh.

“Well you should at least drive me to my damn car.”

Oh, right. Jean had driven himself to the bar last night; his car must still be parked outside it.

“...I can, but I get off two hours after you. Wouldn’t it make more sense to take the bus?”

“I don’t know the fucking bus system here! Plus it’s cold and you owe me!”

Marco can’t fathom how he can owe Jean anything at all, but the part of his mind that thinks Jean is hot even like this speaks up before anything else and agrees to it.

"...yeah, all right."

“I’ll just hang out at the coffee shop across the street until you’re done. You can pick me up then.”

Jean turns back around to the shelf and it’s clear the conversation is over. Marco shakes his head -at himself or Jean, he’s not really sure- and starts to walk away before something occurs to him:

“Wait, if your car is still at the bar, how’d you get to work today?”

“Took the bus.” Jean says without turning around.

Marco doesn’t know which one of them he wants to punch more.

-

The first thing Jean says when he climbs into Marco’s car again, giant paper cup clutched against his chest in glove-less hands, is “I found a pubic hair in a copy of the ‘The Da Vinci Code’ today. I’ve washed my hands like five times.”

Marco blinks at him.

“Hi to you too.”

Jean looks at him.

“I mean I know like, pubes end up everywhere, but in a book and you don’t even notice and then you sell the book and leave other people to deal with that kind of weird shit? What the hell.”

Marco stares at him for another moment, wondering if Jean’s store back in Trost was somehow a castle of crystalline normalcy, then pulls out of the parking lot.

“My day was fine, thanks for asking.”

“I know how your day was,” Jean takes a loud slurping sip of his drink, “I was there for most of it.”

Marco rolls his eyes. Between a rather unpleasant situation with twelve boxes of moldy books (“Twenty bucks?! For all these books?!? That's so awful!”) and Bertholdt dropping a stack of Zadie Smith’s “On Beauty” hardcovers directly onto his face and getting bloody nose ( _ironic, that,_ he couldn’t help thinking), his day had been less than ideal. He adamantly refuses to think about the fact that these events had occurred after Jean had left for the day and he’d already been feeling oddly and irritatingly bereft.

“You could at least say ‘thank you.’”

Jean grunts non-committally.

“Or you could have bought me a drink.”

“You didn’t ask.” Jean looks out the window. “Besides, I don’t know what you’d’ve wanted.”

Marco sighs.

“If you’d take your turn on the Starbucks runs like everyone else-”

“I don’t drink coffee, I shouldn’t have to.”

“Well you obviously drink something that could be located at a coffee shop-”

“It’s fuckin’ weird and obsessive that you guys need Starbucks runs every day. We never did that in Trost, everyone was totally capable of taking care of their own shit. And you spend all day together and then go out drinking? It’s back to that thing I said earlier about you all being this weird incestuous ball of…” he pauses, looking for the right word, and comes up, lamely, with “...beverages.”

The traffic is heavy tonight. It’s raining and Marco can tell everyone is in a hurry to get home before it starts to turn to sleet. Jean’s attitude isn’t helping, and as someone nearly sideswipes him and he swerves to avoid it, other cars honking angrily at him, he actually snaps.

“Then go back to Trost if you’re so miserable here, god knows we don’t need you!”

He regrets the words immediately because Jean goes deathly still and then struggles to open his door, never mind that the car is moving. Marco sighs; he learned last night that the slightest provocation will make the other man react in the most bizarre manner possible, he might have expected something like this.

“Look, Jean, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Let me out of the car.”

“We’re in the middle of traffic!”

“Stop the fucking car! I’m gonna be sick!”

That’s enough reason for Marco to jerk out of traffic and over to a curb, putting on his flashers and hitting the door locks. But Jean doesn’t get sick; he gets out of the car, grabs his messenger bag, and starts walking angrily down the sidewalk. Marco clenches his hands on the steering wheel and rests his forehead against it, cursing slightly. When he looks up, he can see Jean’s back through the rain-spattered window. The idiot doesn’t have a hat or gloves and it’s the beginning of January. Marco sees him slip a little on a patch of ice and whatever is in his coffee cup splashes onto his front. He can hear the faint sounds of swearing and that part of him, that stupid obnoxious totally traitorous part of him that started thinking with feelings last night kicks up again.

Marco gets out of the car and carefully jogs after him.

“Jean, come on!”

He doesn’t even look back.

“Go the fuck away!”

“Get back in the car, you’ll get sick walking in this!”

“You’re not my mom, asshole!”

Marco finally reaches him and grabs his arm. Jean whirls and for a moment Marco isn’t sure if Jean will hit him. Instead they size each other up silently, and Jean is so angry and so wet and so pitiful that Marco’s instinct is as much to kiss his forehead and murmur soft words as it is to shove him into a soggy snowbank.

“You don’t know the way to the bar.”

Jean definitely wants to argue this point, but he can’t, so he sets his jaw and looks away.

“I can get directions, I’m a fucking adult.”

“Just come back to the car.”

It surprises him a little that Jean agrees, and although it makes him wince internally to think about how wet Jean is and what it’ll do to the seat, he’s relieved when they’re both back inside with the heat turned all the way up.

“I’m sorry.” Marco offers.

Jean doesn’t say anything.

“It wasn’t fair of me to say. I’m sure you had good reasons for leaving, and I know it’s...weird to come to a new place where everyone is already friends. We do need you though, I was just angry-”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.” Jean is shivering a little. “I accept your apology, just drive.”

Marco sighs and carefully pulls back into traffic. They don’t talk again.

-

By the time they arrive at Jean’s car, he’s mostly dried off, and seems weirdly contrite. Marco offers him a half-smile as he pulls up alongside the other vehicle.

“Your stop, sir.”

Jean snorts and looks out at his car. There’s two wet tickets stuck to the windshield.

“Fucking awesome.”

He unlocks the door and slides out, Marco unable to keep from watching after him as he picks up the paper and squints at them.

“...are they a lot?”

Jean just grimaces and shakes his head, then digs in his bag for his keys.

“Thanks for the ride,” he eventually says, and shuts the door.

And Marco starts to drive away.

Well he tries.

He really does.

But he can’t help watching through the rearview mirror and he can see Jean’s headlights come on, flicker, and then go off. And then again. And one more time before Marco pulls over and gets out, walking back to the other car.

Jean is sitting in the driver’s seat looking murderous. Marco knocks on the window.

“Need a jump?”

Jean rolls down the window, but keeps looking forward.

“I’ll call Triple A.”

Of course he’d be stubborn.

“I have cables in my car. I’ll be right back.”

And amazingly Jean stays put, waits for Marco to come back, and follows every direction Marco gives to start his car. It takes a few tries - it’s been a long time since Ymir showed him what to do- but eventually Jean’s car starts, and Marco smiles.

“You’ll probably want to drive it for at least half an hour before you park it again.”

Jean nods and looks at the car, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. They stand there for a moment before Marco exhales and smiles at him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“You’re not coming?”

That throws him for a loop.

“Huh?”

Jean tilts his head to Marco, then to the car.

“You said I have to drive it for half an hour. Aren’t you coming along?”

Marco suddenly wonders if he’s having some kind of hallucination brought on from those moldy books.

“I...okay?” he hears himself saying, and Jean almost maybe smiles.

He parks his car and then comes back to Jean, thinking it’s been less than 24 hours since the first time they were ever in a car together and now it’s getting to be almost a thing, and when he gets in and Jean turns on his ipod, he’s greeted by Carrie Underwood loudly proclaiming that “MAYBE NEXT TIME HE’LL THINK BEFORE HE CHEATS.”

He can’t help but laugh in surprise, and looks over at Jean, who stares forward darkly.

“Not a fucking word.”

“So Johnny Cash is bad, but Carrie Underwood…”

“I said not a fucking word, Marco!”

Jean pulls out and starts to drive, and Marco thinks that he likes the way his name sounds when the other man says it. Dammit.

-

They spend about ten minutes not talking, Jean mostly skipping around on the ipod (apparently he doesn’t want to listen to half the songs on there) and sighing a lot at traffic lights.

“So….” Marco finally offers. “Why did-”

“Are you hungry? Cuz I’m fucking starving. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.” He gives Marco a pointed look, then goes back to sneering out the front window.

“Uh...I could eat. I guess we’re doing drive-thru. There’s a Taco Bell near here…”

Jean looks at him like he’s just suggested setting them both on fire.

“That’s not food, that’s a nuclear accident with cheese on it.”

Marco shrugs.

“....I like cheese?”

“I’m not eating at Taco Bell,” Jean skips another song, “Where’s there a McDonald’s.”

“Wait, wait.” Marco holds up a hand. “Taco Bell is bad, but McDonald’s is okay in your book?”

“What’s that saying? ‘Driver picks the restaurant, shotgun shuts the hell up?’”

“First of all, I think that has to do with music choices, and you complained about my music last night, then-”

But Jean isn’t even listening anymore, looking intently along the roadside for the trademark golden arches, and when he finds it, he swerves across two lanes of traffic to make sure they don’t go past it. Marco clutches the armrest and gives a startled yelp. His heart is still pounding when Jean rolls down his window to order two large fries and a coke then drives ahead before Marco can even say what he wants.

Jean is already paying by the time he finds his voice.

“I didn’t even get to order!”

“So?”

Marco has another moment where he can’t actually believe this guy. Physical attractiveness be damned, he really is an asshole in every possible way. He briefly entertains what he’s going to tell his friends about this, and how they’ll retaliate; something related to spiders is a very real possibility.

He’s so deep in this angry reverie that Jean actually has to poke him in the arm to get him to pay attention.

“I said,” Jean has a fry dangling out of the corner of his mouth like some people have cigarettes, “Where’s your Taco Bell?”

Marco stares at him.

“You said you wanted Taco Bell, so that’s where we’ll go. Where is it?”

Marco sputters something like “But you…” and then trails off.

“I said I wasn’t eating at Taco Bell,” Jean snorts, “But now I don’t have to. So?”

Marco gives him the directions in the most contrite way he thinks he’s ever said anything, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Jean until the Volcano Burrito with extra fire sauce is in his lap.

“Enjoy your heartburn, weirdo.” Jean grins at him lopsidedly and shoves several fries into his mouth.

What turns out to be worse than starting to fall for someone as they start to fall out of your car is realizing that you’re falling harder for them every moment you spend in their prickly, unsociable company.

-

By the time Marco looks at the clock, they’ve been driving almost two hours, and talking nearly the whole time.

“Favorite movie.”

“Oh, I hate that question,” Marco taps the backs of his fingers against the window and tries to think, then laughs softly. “Because it makes me forget every movie I’ve ever seen.”

“Come on.” Jean sips his soda, eyes on the wet road ahead of them, and when he sets his cup back into the holder Marco notices that Jean is a big straw-chewer. How disgustingly cute for no good reason. “There’s gotta be something.”

“I really don’t know, though! Ummm...I dunno, ‘The Thing.’”

“‘The Thing?’” Jean’s tone is either shocked or disgusted, maybe both, Marco can’t really tell. “Come on.”

“What’s wrong with ‘The Thing?’”

“It’s too easy. It’s a horror classic, it’s always on top horror movie lists. And it’s already been remade like a dozen times.”

“By a dozen do you mean once?”

“Whatever.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“Okay, Ebert, what’s your favorite movie then?”

“‘The Jerk.’” Jean answers without even thinking, glancing into his rearview mirror.

Marco can’t help laughing at that, probably more than he should, because Jean slows down and narrows his eyes at him.

“What?”

“‘The Jerk?’ Like with Steve Martin? From the seventies?”

“Yeah,” Jean is starting to revert to a bristling ball of scowls, “What’s your problem?”

“It’s...it’s a comedy,” Marco says helplessly, trying to calm down, “I just...I can’t imagine you laughing.”

Jean looks even more enragedly horrified and Marco should really watch himself, he thinks, knowing Jean’s temper, but it’s almost...it’s too easy…

“I laugh! I fucking laugh all the time! I’m a goddamn box of hilarity!” That sends Marco into another peal of laughter, and Jean pulls over, throwing the car into park and folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

“Fine, gigglepuss, see how funny you think it is to walk back to your car from here.”

Marco sobers immediately. Or tries to. He reaches out unthinkingly, putting his hand on Jean’s shoulder and noticing how the other man seems to wince at the touch, but doesn’t move away.

“Hey, I’m sorry, all right. Really.” Marco smiles as steadily as he can; Jean looks like an angry little sparrow and that thought nearly sends him over again. “It’s just that...I don’t know that I’ve ever even seen you smile. Not for real, anyway. You seem so serious all the time, it’s just...it would be like Levi saying he likes the Jackass movies.”

Jean stares at him blankly.

“Okay, bad example, you don’t know him well enough yet, but like… you just have a certain air about you.” He pauses. “Do you know what I mean? I’m really not trying to make fun of you, but you’re not really someone who looks like they enjoy….anything.”

It’s out there and the period is audible, so when Marco lamely tries to add “Er, I mean-” Jean just waves him silent, then sits looking out the window. Marco realizes he still has his hand on him and quickly pulls it away.

“I’m just not very outgoing, okay?” he offers finally, several horribly long minutes later.

“I got that.” All the mirth has left Marco’s body now; he’s holding himself tense, ready to jump out of the car if Jean starts yelling for him to fuck off.

But Jean just says quietly: “And I get that you’re like...god’s gift to friendliness and everyone’s favorite coworker, but just cuz I’m not like that doesn’t mean I don’t like things or care about shit.”

Marco immediately feels like yesterday’s bag of dicks, and tries to think of something better to say than “I’m sorry.”

“I apologize.”

Oh, good, that was so much better.

Jean shrugs.

“Whatever. It’s not a big deal.” He rests his hand on the gearshift. “...I’m not used to working with people like you.”

Again Marco wonders what Jean’s old store was like, but now doesn’t seem the time to ask.

“Well...not everyone is like me. You’ve met Levi, right?”

Jean snorts.

“Captain Cleany McScarypants? Yeah. I don’t think he approved my hiring.”

Marco quietly approves of that name, but nods.

“See, Levi isn’t very personable, and he manages to put up with the rest of us with only thinly-veiled disgust. And Annie would rather eat a rat than engage a customer for more than three minutes at length. One time Bert even-”

Jean shifts and clear his throat a little and Marco realizes it’s a not so subtle cue for him to stop talking. He’s disappointed, because he likes talking about his friends, because it might be good for the other man to hear it, because the the time Bert was more or less hit on at intake by a man dressed in a three coats and a fur pimp hat has reached a near legendary status, and it seems like an important piece of store lore… but Jean’s not interested. That much is clear.

Marco sighs, and looks down at his hands. The wrapper from Jean’s now thoroughly mangled straw has ended up in his lap and he picks it up, twisting it around his fingers absently.

“I should get you back to your car. I need gas to get to work in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Marco pulls the paper apart with a small snap. Interacting with Jean is kind of like trying to rollerskate down an escalator in the dark, but for whatever fucked up reason he’s sorry to see the evening end.

 _You’re thinking about it like it was a date or something,_ his brain chides him, and it sounds an awful lot like Ymir. _Are you gonna be sad when he doesn’t wanna kiss you goodnight?_

Yeah, actually, he will be sad, but Marco knows i'ts a ridiculous thought. The most he can hope for is that Jean will be interested in talking to him some other day. When they return to his car he tosses an awkward smile at Jean.

“Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jean nods, and there’s a long awkward moment where Marco wonders if either of them is going to say anything. But neither of them does, so he opens the door and slides out. The door is closing when he hear Jean say “Marco,” and he grabs the handle and yanks it back open with such barely contained relief that Jean starts a little.

“I just…” He looks about as pissed as usual, chewing on his lower lip, brow furrowed. “......I…..”

Another long pause, and Marco shivers; the rain has turned to snow and it’s at least five degrees colder. The metal of the car door burns a little and he hopes he left his own gloves in his car and that they’re not buried under discarded fast food bags on Jean’s floor.

“What’s your phone number?” he forces out finally. It’s so unexpected that Marco startles out a laugh again, and immediately regrets it when Jean looks like he might drive away with the door still open. “Just in case my car fucking stalls again and I need another jump, it’s not….oh my god, forget it.”

“No. No! It’s totally fine.” Marco licks his lips and tells him the number, watching as Jean enters it into his phone.

“...yeah.” Jean says when he’s done, and makes an expression that might be a smile if you squinted at it from a mile away. “Night.”

Dismissed, Marco shuts the door and steps back, then watches as Jean pulls away, nearly cuts someone off, and drives into the night. He shakes his head. Jean’s a mess that Marco doesn’t need to pick up, but he can’t help wanting to, wondering if anyone else has ever even tried.

As if a hug could solve all his personality problems, he scoffs at himself, and goes to his own car, flopping into the driver’s seat. It would probably be a really bony hug too, what with Jean being made out of pointy sticks and all. But Marco’s always kind of liked people with an edge - Ymir is his favorite cousin and one of his favorite people ever for a reason- and the fact remains that Jean’s hot as fuck in Marco’s book.

He looks at the hand he put on Jean’s shoulder and then, almost guiltily, palms himself through his jeans. He shudders a little, wondering if it’s super weird to jerk off to someone you work with literally a day after you realized that you’re in love like a teenager.

...whatever. Marco is 27 years old, and he can do what he wants. He’s just starting to pull out (home, into pajamas, put on a movie, maybe do some good self-care in the place of Jean-care) when he gets a text. The thought that it might be Jean sends another shiver down his lower back and settles in his groin.

>>From: Ymir  
just cuz its cracked doesnt mean that its broke just cuz its a butt doesnt mean its a joke BUTT MACHIIIIIINNNNNEE

They’re song lyrics from a show they went to last spring, and it’s a typical text from Ymir, who tends to send him random lines from shows or just strange thoughts that pop into her head. Usually Marco responds in kind, but tonight he’s tempted to send back something serious, something along the lines of “I have a thing for my new coworker and I don’t know what to do about him.”

Another text arrives before he can respond.

>>From: Ymir  
watching waterworld and i have the weirdest boner for kevin costner rn

Well then. Ymir may not have known Marco was having a moment of some kind, but she’s destroyed it completely anyway. He tosses the phone into the passenger seat with a snort, realizes his gloves are nowhere to be seen and finally heads for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ymir's song is ["Buttmachine," by That 1 Guy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHlDfejCHkc), and it's awesome and you should check it out. He puts on a great live show. Ymir likes going to shows. We should talk about that. 
> 
> So if you want to talk about Ymir or...anything the offer remains if you want to come stare into the depths of my soul or just chat, my tumblr is [here,](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com) and I like making friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is quickly learning that anything to do with Jean seems to be one step forward and eight steps back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, back again, and I'm still amazed and touched and just astounded at the response I've gotten. Thank you all so much. And I'm sorry that this week's chapter is kind of short. I promise next week's will make up for it (hint: it involves Ymir).
> 
> As usual, you should check out my overly-talented artist friend and [banner-providing](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com/post/82510897988/happy-belated-birthday-jean-ive-made-the-cover) waifu [ Joanna Estep>, Heichou Squad (](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com)[ToriColourBastia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/pseuds/ToriColourBastia) and [Fini](http://vriskajerket.tumblr.com)), and Queen Beyond the Wall, [monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks). All of them are beautiful shiny people and I owe them a great debt.

Marco doesn’t sleep well, and getting up for his opening shift is unnecessarily difficult. There’s about two inches of snow on the ground from the night before so his drive takes longer than usual, and he can’t help wondering how Jean’s car is doing today. He’s pretty sure the weirdly haired man was in his dreams, but all he can remember is a vague sense of unfulfillment and it makes him feel uncomfortably short tempered.

He’s trying to clear any Jean-related thoughts from his head as Hanji lets him in.

“Aw, butt, are you in a bad mood today too?”

“Mm?”

“Oh, just Levi. Which, I mean, he’s in a bad mood every day, but it’s always a downer when you’re one of the cranky ones.”

“Just didn’t get enough sleep.” Marco manages a small half-smile for her. “What’s wrong with Levi today?”

Hanji shrugs.

“Oh, you know he’s personally affronted by Thor, so he hates Thursdays on principle. Or it’s because I didn’t do the laundry so he’s wearing my panties and I’m going commando and he’s creeped out.” She pauses. “Or is it the other way around and I’m wearing his boxers and he’s...Huh, I guess when I go to the bathroom it’ll be a surprise! But yeah. One of those things, probably.”

It doesn’t pass Marco’s notice that Hanji’s overshare doesn’t even phase him anymore. When Levi first took over management of the store and brought Hanji with him, everyone was a more than a little unnerved. Not only was he tiny, as sharp-tongued as sharp-dressed and in possession of a nearly deranged sense of orderliness but Hanji was his polar opposite: gregarious, engaging, brilliant and barely capable of getting dressed without needing an instruction manual. That they were able to work together in any sort of capacity was strange enough, but when it became clear they also lived together (“mostly-platonic lifepartners” was Hanji’s phrase for it), the weirdness factor was upped tenfold. For about a week.

And then, like so many strange things in retail, it became normal. Because Hanji, Marco realized, was Levi’s human credential, and Levi was her grounding force. And once that was clear, he could see the reflection of that kind of relationship, that depth of attachment in almost everyone around him, almost like it was the very nature of their store. Connie and Sasha might have been almost scarily attached to each other, but no one could doubt that they were the most efficient register and intake team in the store, and they never seemed to tire of each other’s company. Bert would just appear whenever Annie needed something shelved up high and do it for her. Armin made the best displays in the store and would repair them without complaint every time Eren, engrossed in something else, ran into them and caused a domino cascade of books. Mikasa hovered over both of them and Reiner over everyone in general. And Marco himself...well he was part of this machine, not fused to one or two people in particular but attached to all of them.

Then there was Jean, the screw in the gears. Marco frowns at the thought. The mechanism didn’t operate as smoothly with him, and it feels like for the first time he’s really seeing how uncomfortable Jean is, how much it seems like he doesn’t belong. There has to be a place for him, though, Marco is sure. If they can adapt to everyone else’s idiosyncracies and create such a good flow, there’s a way to fit Jean in. It’s a matter of getting him to want to be a part of it.

“Hey how’s that Jean kid working out?” Hanji pulls him back to earth and Marco realizes he’s been standing with his coat half off for a little while now.

“Uh…” Marco hangs up his coat, “He’s…okay, I guess?”

“Marco you’re so sweet.” Hanji dumps a packet of instant hot chocolate into her coffee and stirs it. “He’s an ass, right? Eren’s said as much basically every day since he was hired. I’ve been taking it with a shaker of salt because Eren is Eren and I know they got off on the wrong foot, but I figured you’d be honest with me.”

He finds himself shrugging helplessly.

“Honestly, he really is okay. I think he’s still feeling like he doesn’t really belong here.”

“Yeah I know the vibe in the Trost store is really different, and he was one of their strongest employees. He’s the one who put in for the transfer, though, so who knows.” Hanji sucks the liquid off her stirring stick and chews on it. “He’ll either get used to our happy little family or he’ll move on. He’s probably just lonely right now.” She looks at Marco over her glasses. “I’m sure you can help with that, though.”

There’s really no need for him to be blushing, but Marco can feel it happening anyway.

“Why me?”

She hums and cocks her head to the side.

“I dunno, I guess it’s just that _je ne sais quoi_ about you. You’re also not in a committed codependent relationship with one or two people in the store like everyone else.” She pauses. “And you have a really high tolerance for dickery, it’s almost unnatural.”

“...I think that was a compliment?”

“I live with Levi. That’s practically a diploma in asshole handling coming from me.”

“Right.” Marco smiles. “Speaking of him, I think it’s my turn to clean the bathrooms this morning.”

“Yup! I don’t think that hobo that came in with his own beer stein just before close defiled it too badly, but I’d bring an extra set of gloves if I were you.”

Marco shudders. It’s already some kind of day.

-

Jean is on the closing shift, so he doesn’t actually arrive until Marco’s day is almost over, and Marco doesn’t even see him until they run smack into each other as he turns a corner into the sci-fi section. His hands immediately go to Jean’s shoulders to steady him.

“Whoa, hey, sorry.”

“Yeah,” Jean doesn’t meet his eyes.

They stand there for a few moments, Marco frantically (and, he thinks, pathetically) hoping Jean will say something else, but when nothing comes he just smiles and moves to walk past him.

“Hey…” Jean says behind him. “You opened this morning?”

“Uh-huh.” Marco scans the shelf, pretending to be looking for something when in reality he’s forgotten the search he’s on and mostly doesn’t want Jean to see that’s he’s remembered Hanji’s words earlier and started blushing again.

“I um….” he scuffs at the floor, “I wouldn’t have like...dragged you around last night. If I’d known you had to get up early.”

Marco looks back at Jean and blinks. There might be a hint of pink on the other man’s cheeks too, but it’s entirely possible it’s just exertion. Retail exertion. Yeah.

“...I didn’t mind.” he says, then before he can stop himself, “It was fun.”

Jean’s lip quirks upwards; Marco is sure his heartbeat is erratic now. All he can think about now is cogs grinding together, sparks flying.

“Yeah,” Jean nods and stuff his hands in his pockets. “Even if my car smells like old fast food now.” He looks like he wants to say more, like he’s wrestling with something, but then there’s a crash from the intake counter.

“What the hell, Eren?” Reiner’s voice crackles over the headsets. “You just throwing people’s stuff on the ground now?”

“...Earwig,” Eren responds sheepishly. “On that stack of books. It ran out and scared me, I dropped them.”

“I was worried you and Jean were fighting again,” says Armin, measured and slightly concerned.

“Pfft, no, ugh,” Eren’s disgusted is expression is audible. “I’d rather have the earwig. Or, like, ten earwigs. All the earwigs.”

Jean’s face has darkened considerably, Marco notes with disappointment, watching as the other man clicks the button for his microphone and hisses “Yeah I can hear you, dickhead.”

“I know you can hear me. That’s why I said it. Assface.”

“You’re the assface!”

“You’re the fucking curse of the deadly assface!”

“And you can never go back to Assface Lake,” Connie intones with a trademark nonsequitur that’s probably a reference only Sasha will get.

“I never even wanted to go there once,” Eren snorts, “But someone decided our store wasn’t assfacey enough-”

Jean starts to storm toward the intake counter, and Marco is grabbing after him when Levi’s voice cuts through, a bitter and unamused god.

“All of you are assfaces, now shut the fuck up and do your jobs.”

The headsets go silent. Jean’s whole body is tense, and Marco is struck with that desperate urge to hug him again, to rub all the tension out of his muscles and possibly lick it out too. He reaches for Jean but Jean smacks his hand away and turns around, stomping away into World History where he starts scanning the section on Russia with an angry intensity usually reserved for punishing zombie war criminals.

Marco doesn’t see him again before he leaves for the day, and that feeling of loss is back. So much for helping Jean feel better about their store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Levi and Hanji sharing underwear (only clean underwear, of course) is a personal and cherished headcanon of mine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco seeks solace in Ymir. She offers the complete opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still in awe that people are reading and leaving kudos, still so grateful. I really can't get over it. Thank you guys so much. (Also if you came to visit my tumblr and decided to stick around, thanks for that too!)
> 
> Today is Heichousquad member [Fini's](http://vriskajerket.tumblr.com) birthday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY FINI! Everyone should go celebrate her. 
> 
> Also don't forget to visit my [bannerist](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com/post/82510897988/happy-belated-birthday-jean-ive-made-the-cover) and waifu [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), [ToriColourBastia (professional sweetie)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/works), and [Monkeysocks (your resident Queen Beyond the Wall)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks). They will make your life better and more cosmically aligned.

He sleeps badly again. Lots of tossing and turning and when he does sleep, he has strange dreams that involve Bert kicking over shelves and Annie inexplicably biting the heads off customers (how does her mouth even open that wide) and Jean crying over a fallen pile of books. It’s a small mercy when he wakes up that he doesn’t actually have to go to work today, since dreaming about work and then having to go to work is the worst.

If Jean was involved couldn’t it at least have been sexy? "No, Marco," he mutters to himself as he showers, "Your subconscious decided you get to just watch Jean ugly-cry more. That’s so hot."

Since he has the day off, the plan is to run errands, do laundry, and meet Ymir for lunch, but as he’s brushing his teeth she sends him a text that she’s not feeling well, and would appreciate it if he would be willing to bring some soup over.

It’s so strangely and politely worded that for a moment Marco thinks she might actually be delirious or seriously ill, until he realizes that clearly the text is from Christa via Ymir’s phone. He’s reassured of his cousin’s regular questionable mental state when he gets another text a few minutes later suggesting that he “fuck soup” and demands “spicy chicken nugger” instead. Marco gathers his laundry and carries it carefully to the car, then gets in, navigating to retrieve her dubiously-titled meal while glancing at the barrage of texts she continues to send him. After “i just sneezed a bucket of snot in2 my hand,” he stops looking at his phone, figuring she’ll wear herself out eventually.

“Good lord,” he says as he’s shouldering the door to her apartment open a short while later, her “nugger” balanced on top of his laundry basket. “Are you five years old?”

Ymir peers over the top of the couch, an orange explosion decimating a southeast Asian forest on the TV behind her.

“I love the smell of nugger in the morning,” she croaks. “It smells like undermining Christa’s authority.”

Marco rolls his eyes, handing her the bag as he walks deeper into the apartment to get his laundry started.

“How long was Christa gone before you decided to send that text?” he calls.

“The door hadn’t even closed,” she hollers back, then dissolves in a fit of coughing.

The washer and dryer are in the walk-in closet in the bedroom. It never fails to amuse him the way that for all Ymir’s gritty exterior and devil-may-care attitude, her side of the bedroom is tidy, and it’s Christa’s that’s covered in lacy underwear, makeup, various mugs, and law briefs. When his clothes are churning away, he finally joins her on the couch, forcibly lifting her feet and sitting down, replacing them in his lap.

“Don’t jostle the invalid,” she says around a mouthful, and reaches for the remote. “You want me to rewind?”

He shakes his head; there’s times when he’s certain that if he were to have a near-death experience it’s “Apocalypse Now” that would flash before his eyes instead of his own life. It’s Ymir’s favorite, and has been since she was fourteen and got high for the first time and had a terrible reaction to it. Marco still isn’t sure what prompted his eleven year old self to decide that what would calm down his crying and shaking cousin was a traumatizing war movie, but it’s been their go-to ever since. In her own tumultuous high school years, there were lots of times Marco would wake up in the middle of the night to find Ymir sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the movie on silent with the subtitles up, tears streaming down her face. It’s her comfort food, and he’s never begrudged her it. He does wonder, though, what their lives might have been like if he’d chosen “Citizen Kane” that night instead. Or even "Chicken Run." 

But it is oddly soothing, calming him in a way he didn’t know he’d needed, and when Ymir passes him a nugget he finds himself smiling.

“Wow, sharing? You must really be sick.”

She flips him off and grabs an entire gallon of orange juice off the table, drinking directly from it before replacing it and huddling under her blankets. She jams her feet against his stomach.

“You look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk. But yeah, I didn’t sleep well,” Marco aimlessly starts rubbing her ankles. “Work stuff on my mind, I guess.”

“Mmg,” she offers helpfully, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Marco doesn’t notice that he’s started to drift off until he feels her nudging him in the thigh with her heel and realizes the movie has ended and the DVD returned to the menu screen. He leans forward for the remote with a groan, exerting enough effort to hit “play” again, then returns to the couch, this time shifting so he’s lying down too. She murmurs some threat about his feet near her face, but he ignores her, and falls into a much more solid sleep.

He’s not sure how much later it is when he wakes up, but a different movie is playing and Ymir is holding a phone close to her face, texting.

“You tried to put your toes up my nose in your sleep, it was fucking gross.”

He yawns.

“That was completely on purpose, I thought you’d be into it.” She’s smiling at the phone, and he rubs his eye. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think. Kinda sweaty, that’s probably a good sign.” Her eyes don’t move from the small screen in front of her, thumbs working quickly.

It takes him a moment, but then Marco recognizes her smile as one he’s known and feared for years: the one known as “I’m fucking up so much shit right now and I love it.” He also realizes that the phone in her hands is his.

“......Ymir.” He swallows; he has to move carefully now. “Why do you have my phone?”

“You got some texts while you were asleep.”

“And you didn’t, I don’t know, wake me up instead of answering yourself?”

She shrugs, the grin getting bigger.

“You said you didn’t sleep well, so I let you rest. And what if it was something important? What if work needed you to come in? What if it was Christa asking you how I was doing and you didn’t answer and she got worried and thought we’d both died? I couldn’t take that chance.”

“I can already tell you it wasn’t work or Christa, who was it?”

Her grin somehow gets bigger, her teeth almost sharp.

“Ymir-” he tries to sit up. She plants her foot firmly on his chest. “Who are you talking to?

“Just one of your coworkers.”

That’s an odd choice of words. Ymir knows all his coworkers personally -she even played rugby with Bert and Reiner in college and dated Bert for approximately ten terrifying minutes before they both ran screaming back to their sexuality- so there’s no reason for her to not refer to them by name. Unless. Marco feels cold all over.

“Ymir! Give me my phone!”

“What’s with your store, dude? Levi and Jeans? Hur hur, it’s a bad joke waiting to happen.”

His horrible suspicions confirmed he tries to sit up again, and this time her foot nearly ends up in his mouth.

“It’s -blagh!- it’s Jean, it’s French!”

“Eet ees fruuuhnch?” Her accent is so bad that it’s actually more offensive than is possible. “Oo-la-la!”

“Oh my god, give me my phone!”

“How come you never told me about this guy? Zis _Jean_? Do you like him? Is that it? Oooh, honey, do you like this boy?” Ymir has the phone above her head now, just daring him to reach for it.

“He’s new okay, get your feet out of my face!”

“Come at me, bro, I dare you.”

Marco stills for a moment and looks at her mournfully, hunching his shoulders just a little. He sighs, then glances away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker of concern on Ymir’s face, and her hand lowers a little. That’s when he lunges.

“GIVE ME MY PHONE!”

“AAHH FUCK YOU!”

They fall off the couch in a flailing heap, the phone flying out of Ymir’s hand and several feet away, but as he tries to crawl across her to get it she grabs the waistband of his pants tightly. His shirt rides up and before he can do anything more than squawk in protest she’s biting at his stomach and all the strength goes out of his arms. The problem with fighting with Ymir is that they’ve done it so much that she knows all his weak points, and has utterly no shame when it comes to playing dirty. She’s also the one who discovered how painfully ticklish Marco is and has never let him forget it.

He’s busy kicking weakly at her while she digs her fingers into his armpits (her fingers are so long that as it doesn’t matter how hard he presses his arms to his sides, she still gets in) when the door opens, followed by a startled feminine “Oh!”

“Babygirl!”

Ymir is immediately sitting up, arms held out to the tiny woman in the doorway.

“You must be feeling better!” Christa says brightly, then rounds to couch to find her girlfriend sitting on Marco’s chest, the latter gasping stray giggles. “...Marco, however, seems considerably worse.”

“Hi Christa,” he wheezes.

Ymir crawls off him to go to her, and Marco rolls over, finally grabbing his phone and scrolling back through an obscene number of texts.

**> >From: Unknown  
I**

**> >From: Unknown  
fuck sorry**

**> >From: Unknown  
i have your gloves i didn’t know you werent working today. do you want me to put them on your shelf?**

**> >From: Me  
why do u have my gloves??**

**> >From: Unknown  
you left them in my car the other night.**

**> >From: Unknown  
this is jean**

**> >From: Unknown  
from work**

Marco pauses, heart clenching at Jean’s awkward texts. He probably shouldn’t find them painfully adorable, but he does anyway.

**> >From: Me  
i dont know u**

**> >From: Unknown  
???**

**> >From: Unknown  
isnt this marco’s number?**

**> >From: Me  
yup**

**> >From: Unknown  
but youre not marco**

**> >From: Me  
no but i kno all his coworkers and i dont kno no jeans**

**> >From: Unknown  
who is this**

**> >From: Me  
hes never talked about u r u rly boring or sth?**

**> >From: Unknown  
no really who the fuck is this**

**> >From: Me  
u go driving w my little boy & u steal his gloves but he doesnt even tell me about u? das harsh.**

**> >From: Unknown  
omg forget it**

Marco can hear Christa chatting happily to Ymir about her day, and he hopes that Ymir is enjoying it since it’s the last thing she’s ever going to hear in this life. He’s going to kill her.

**> >From: Me  
stop stealing things jean**

**> >From: Me  
he doesnt even have ur number saved but u have his**

**> >From: Me  
oooh r u cute? do u think hes cute? do u want the speckled d?**

**> >From: Unknown  
stop texting me!!!**

**> >From: Me  
its cool if u do lots of people do**

**> >From: Me  
u wouldnt be the first coworker hes banged**

Oh she’s so dead. She’s so very dead. Marco hunches over the phone, trying to imagine Jean’s face as he got these texts. It’s not pretty, despite how handsome Marco normally finds Jean’s features. Also what the fuck gave her the right to even bring that up? It’s not uncommon knowledge that Marco slept with one of their summer temps, but for some reason he hates that Ymir just volunteered that information. What will Jean think of him now?

**> >From: Unknown  
that doesn’t seem like him**

**> >From: Me  
yeah well me & him are intimately acquainted so i think id know better**

**> >From: Unknown  
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??!?!?**

**> >From: Me  
u get mad rly fast**

**> >From: Unknown  
leave me alone!!**

**> >From: Me  
okay okay im sorry here ill be honest w u**

**> >From: Unknown  
??**

**> >From: Me  
his dick isnt actually speckled. he has butt freckles but theres like only 1 or 2 on his dick. sry. i kno its kind of a letdown.**

Check that. Both of them are going to die. Marco is going to burn down this apartment with both he and Ymir in it, and Christa can show Marlon Brando’s “the horror...the horror” monologue at their joint funeral because this is so not okay, this is so not okay. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to face Jean again, and it drives him up the wall that part of the reason he’s so upset is that he would have liked to let Jean find out about his dick himself.

**> >From: Unknown  
WHATS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!?!?!? STOP TEXTING ME!!!**

**> >From: Me  
i think its a good size tho? if u like that kind of thing. do u like that kind of thing?**

**> >From: Me  
u can tell me ill keep it a secret. i could even try 2 get it 4 u.**

**> >From: Me  
i just looked @ his schedule hes totally free sat night u should go out**

**> >From: Me  
ill make u a reservation @ clup epic**

**> >From: Unknown  
i dont know where that is**

**> >From: Me  
its my bedroom. cover is $50 and i wear a party hat & sing happy birthday 2 me while i cry & masturbate. ull love it.**

**> >From: Unknown  
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU**

“YMIR.”

“Uh oh, that’s Marco’s business voice.”

He peers above the arm of the couch, hoping that his eyes alone will register the sheer immensity of the pile of shit his cousin is in. She huddles closer to Christa, body folded completely against the smaller woman and head tucked under her chin.

“What. The fuck. Ymir.”

“You’re not very threatening from behind the couch, hon. Also you wouldn’t hit a sick person, would you?”

“Ymir,” Christa’s brow furrows as Marco stands up. “What did you do?”

“Awww, baby, I was just playing with one of his coworkers!”

“You had no fucking right to tell him any of that!” Marco has his hands clenched by his sides. He sees Christa’s wide eyes and points to his phone. “She told him...sh…” he trails off, realizing he doesn’t actually want to relay the knowledge that Ymir can accurately describe his dick. It may not surprise Christa, since she does live with Ymir after all, but he’d really rather not. “...personal things.”

“Ymir!”

“It’s not like it’s anything he’s never said to his own friends while drunk!” Ymir counters. “Reiner thinks that shit is hilarious!”

She’s right - Marco’s known to be particularly loquacious and extremely flirtatious when trashed, and very cuddly- but it’s the principle of the thing.

“He’s not like Reiner!”

Ymir looks at him searchingly for a long moment, then says, with a tiny hint of surprise, “Obviously not.”

Marco sighs.

“....whatever.”

He can hear Christa quietly chiding Ymir as he walks back to get his laundry, then pulls out his phone and quickly types his own message to Jean.

**> >From: Me  
Oh my gosh Jean, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep and my cousin took my phone.**

**> >From: Me  
She has no boundaries at all, I really apologize for her. I hope she didn’t bother you too much.**

He wouldn’t blame Jean if he didn’t respond, but he can’t help hoping. Marco wants to get out of here and maybe he could stop by work on the way home and catch Jean, apologize in person. He opens the washer to find his clothes from hours before still sitting there, still wet.

Right. He fell asleep and forgot to put them in the dryer.

“Fuck!”

He sits down with his back against the machine just as his phone buzzes.

**> >From: Unknown  
oh no big deal just got called into the office to get a fucking warning from levi for texting at work**

Marco just groans, folding his arms on top of his knees and resting his forehead on them. Of course Jean wouldn’t have been able to text in the bathroom, or in a corner somewhere and be subtle about it. Great. And it’s not like saying “you could have ignored her” would help anything at this point. Ymir makes herself decidedly hard to ignore, and Jean’s buttons are so big and so red and shout “HAMMER ME WITH YOUR FISTS” to anyone within a ten mile radius. It would probably be a good idea for them to never be in the same room together (not that anything of the sort seems very plausible right now).

**> >From: Me  
I’m really sorry. :(**

He almost stops himself, but then types one more thing.

**> >From: Me  
Is there a way I can make it up to you?**

Jean doesn’t answer and minutes stretch past. Marco finally gets up and starts to transfer the wet clothes into the dryer. He’s tempted to toss them into a soggy pile and just dry them at home, anything so he can get out of here and not have to risk committing whatever the official name for “cousin murder” is, but it’s so cold out, and he hates the idea of leaving here so angry.

“Marco?”

Christa peers around the doorway. He manages a weak smile for her, and she comes in, sitting down next to the machines. He joins her on the floor again with a sigh and she smiles kindly. 

“I’m sorry about Ymir.”

“You don’t have to apologize for her,” he laughs dryly, “I’ve known her my whole life, I should be used to it.”

“Regardless.” They sit in silence for several long minutes, before she speaks again. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Marco huffs out a soft breath of resignation.

“I do, actually, yeah. I don’t know why. He’s kind of awful and I hardly know him, but I like him a lot.”

“He’s awful? Gosh, what’s that like?”

A choked “hey!” comes from just outside the door and Marco can’t helping laughing for real. Of course Ymir would be out there eavesdropping, waiting for the appropriate moment to semi-but-not-entirely apologize. As easy as it is to be enraged at Ymir, it’s almost as easy to let it go. Almost.

“I suppose you’d know best, wouldn’t you?”

Christa beams at him, ignoring the growl from around the corner.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? I think we’re going to order a pizza. We can get whatever you like. Ymir will pay for it.”

“I never said that!”

“Ymir will pay for it,” Christa says more firmly, eyes shining in a way that makes Marco a little nervous, “Or Ymir will be even more sorry than she already is.”

There’s a long pause, then the sound of grumbling and feet moving away down the hall.

“Hey butthead,” she calls out a moment later, “Do you want your gross fucking pineapple on your half or what?”

It’s a very petty revenge, and it doesn’t entirely excuse everything she’s done, but Marco shouts back “Yes!” and feels very rewarded by her sound of disgust. Christa stands up and holds out a hand, which is charming considering he’s nearly a foot taller than she is, but he takes it.

“Go on, I’ll be right there,” he says, and once Christa’s left takes out his phone one more time.

There’s still no answer, but he goes to his contacts and adds Jean’s name and number. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I love Ymir more than I knew.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has bad days. Even Marco. He just seems to be having several in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Wednesday, and it snuck up on me! Like people reading this have snuck up on me! I know I say it every week but I really can't get over how amazed I am to have you all reading this. Thank you so much. Thanks to everyone who's come to visit me on tumblr, too. I'm astounded. 
> 
> And this chapter is really long! There's actual retail tension, ripped fromthe frontlines of the customer service world! There's even what [QBtW Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) has dubbed "shamewank." It was about time, right? I thought it was. 
> 
> (Don't forget the underground [artist creature](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com/post/82510897988/happy-belated-birthday-jean-ive-made-the-cover) [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), and Heichousquad [ToriColourBastia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/pseuds/ToriColourBastia) and [Fini.](http://vriskajerket.tumblr.com) They're like chocolate for your soul.)

“Oh man,” Connie is practically bouncing when Marco joins him behind the intake counter. “Yesterday was crazy.”

It certainly looks like it - the pricing counter is covered in books. An entire new flat of cds has joined the stack that’s already taller than Levi and there’s a pile of dirty Xbox games in the video game quarantine.

“Yeah?” Marco isn’t entirely paying attention to Connie; he scans the daily schedule and realizes with dismay that Jean is off today. He sighs. “What happened?”

“Okay so FIRST,” Connie holds out his hands as though he’s trying to calm down an excited puppy (really, Marco thinks, their positions should be reversed), “We get this totally sweet sale. Like all this good shit, new stuff, it’s all perfect. But it’s taking a while so shit starts piling up, right? Because everyone was like ‘hey I know, it’s like seven degrees outside, I wanna go sell books!’ And it’s me and Hanji and so we have to get Eren over, and we get this comic book buy, and Eren is going through it and having tiny orgasms over whatever he’s looking at, so he gets way too involved. And meanwhile, Sasha-” The brunette suddenly appears over Connie’s shoulder as if summoned and waves at Marco, “Is in the psych section, right, and the roof starts leaking again the snow is melting. Like it’s a fucking puddle and it’s spreading-”

“So Levi is completely flipping his shit,” Sasha picks up in the middle of Connie’s sentence without missing a beat; honestly it’s like they communicate through telepathy sometimes, and it’s almost frightening. “And I’m just standing there trying to shelve while he makes pissy calls to the people who were supposed to have fixed the roof before, but homeless Larry David-guy is back there too and you know how he smells like dirty hair even though he doesn’t have any? His chair is like...right in the middle of the puddle and he won’t leave and Levi can’t do anything...”

Marco winces, more than a little relieved he only had to deal with one obnoxious event yesterday instead of several at once.

“Then! Then.” Connie takes back over. “This guy comes up to the register and tries to haggle with Bert over the price of a record. And Bert can’t get him to back off, so Annie tries to take over and it’s so painful because she gets all aggressive and he won’t back down so Annie won’t back down and Bert just stands there like he wants to crawl into a hole and die.”

“Oh are you talking about yesterday?” Eren has come up to the counter now, leaning across it with a grin. “God what a mess. Did you get to my favorite part yet?”

“Not yet, not yet!” Sasha flaps her hand at him.

“So in the middle of this whole shitshow, okay, Jean is standing in like...the center of the store, texting.” Connie’s exuberance makes Marco feels a little ill; he can feel himself holding onto the copy of "Catch 22" like it’s some kind of stress ball. “Like he’s having some argument with someone and his face just keeps getting more and more red and he’s getting more and more angry and he’s swearing at his phone. And like, dude, we all know you’re not supposed to text at work, and the rest of us are at least sneaky about it, but he’s not even trying, he looks like he’s about to eat his fucking phone-”

“And Levi fucking gave it to him!” Eren crows, jumping in. “He called him back to the office and Jean comes out like five minutes later and he’s gone completely purple and he storms out the door without his coat.”

Marco goes pale.

“He left?”

“Not for good, unfortunately,” Eren pauses to blow his bangs out of his eyes. “I guess after reaming his ass Levi told him to take his ten. He came back and Bert asked if he was okay and he nearly punched his face off. I dunno if Bert was sweating or crying by the end of his shift. Probably both.”

“Poor Bert, he had a rough day.” Sasha says, and Connie and Eren nod.

“Um,” Marco hazards, swallowing hard, “What about ‘poor Jean?’”

All three of them stare at him. They actually even blink simultaneously; Marco can almost hear a soft clicking sound.

“....unnhhh?” Eren finally suggests, nose wrinkling.

“Well, I mean…” Marco quickly looks down at the book in his hands, finding he’s bent the cover badly. He sets it down and tries to smooth it out. “He was obviously having a rough day too.”

“Yeah but...it’s Jean,” Connie raises an eyebrow. “He kind of brings it on himself, you know?

“How?”

“We all know you’re not supposed to text at work.” Sasha is still looking at him like he’s gone completely crackers.

“I know that, but like...he’s not… He’s not really having an easy time with his transfer. You guys could be a little nicer to him.” They’re staring again. Marco scowls now. “I mean it, you guys. He’s not a monster. He’s just kind of…”

“A jackass? A fuckface?” Eren supplies.

“A douchecake with extra suck?” Connie suggests.

“He’s not any of those things!” Marco smacks his hand on the book. “He’s just not easy to get to know and no one is even trying, I don’t blame him for thinking we’re all assholes!”

Marco immediately regrets saying it when he sees Eren snap to attention.

“Did he say that? Marco, did he say that to you? Because if he did-”

“No, god, calm down!” _Good one, Bodt,_ “He didn’t say ‘assholes.’”

“Then what did he say, exactly?” Even Sasha’s eyes are narrowed.

He picks up “Mercy” by Jodi Picoult and tries to price it, but the computer screen seems out of focus.

“He called us ‘an incestuous ball of beverages,’ okay?” He tosses the book down and turns back to them. “He’s having a really hard time, please just...give him a break?”

Eren still looks ready to go running to Levi, but Connie seems thoughtful.

“Well,” he says finally, “He’s not exactly wrong.”

They all stand in silence for a few minutes, and Marco is aware he’s starting to blush. He quickly looks for something else to price, but everything just looks like junk to him, and his chest feels tight.

When she finally speaks, Sasha’s voice is half-amused, half-pitying, “...oh, Marco.”

“What.” He doesn’t look up.

“Oh, Marco.” She repeats.

Something clicks in Connie too, and he laughs softly.

“Shit, Marco.”

“What?” Eren asks, fingering the headset around his neck. “What am I missing?”

“Oh Marco, sweetiepie,” Sasha puts her hand on his arm, “Not again.”

It’s not even worth trying to deny it. He sighs in resignation.

“Dude.” Connie shakes his head, still laughing. “Dude.”

“Eeew, Marco, you like him?” Eren’s eyes are impossibly wide; he looks scandalized. “Ugh but….ugh! What is there to like about him?!”

“He has a nice butt.” Sasha offers.

“That’s true, he does,” Connie nods.

“You mean his face is dumb like a butt! And not a nice butt! And his butt itself is just stupid!”

“Jaeger,” Levi is suddenly behind him, and all of them jump at his low voice. “Don’t you have something to be shelving?”

“Yes sir, I do!” Eren quickly scrambles behind the counter, grabbing an armload of books for the religion section and bounding out onto the floor.

“Get a cart, you idiot!” Levi calls after him, then turns to the other three. “Am I paying you to stand around talking about asses?”

“Actually I think the company pays us to do that,” Connie says smartly, then, “Ow, Sasha, stop pinching me!”

Levi doesn’t even bother with a change in expression.

“You’re closing tonight, aren’t you Springer? Do you want to clean the floor with the mop or your tongue?”

Marco likes Levi in general, but one thing that’s always impressed him about the man (and kind of scared him too) is the difficulty in telling when his manager is making a threat or a promise.

“Wow, you know what, let’s go rearrange the kid’s section!” Sasha grabs Connie’s hand and they scurry away from the counter.

Levi continues to look at Marco, though, and he finally asks, “Yes sir?”

“Kirchstein wasn’t texting you yesterday, was he?”

“N-no,” Marco stutters, wondering if that counts as a true lie or just a lie of omission.

Levi seems to be satisfied, though, and nods curtly, smoothing his tie before turning to go.

“If you want to fuck him, that’s fine, just make sure he’s less of an idiot than the temp you banged over the summer.”

For the second time in as many days, Marco wants to set himself and everyone he knows on fire.

“What is this week,” he hisses to the computer screen, and tries to focus on doing his job.

-

Forehead against his forearm against the wall, Marco thrusts into his too-dry hand and thinks about leaving his gloves in Jean’s car, Jean’s car that smelled like frying oil and store-brand Old Spice, the way Jean smiled -just once- and drove like he was half-bored with the world. He runs his thumb over the precome at the head, wondering how Jean would look with a cock in his mouth and his own fingers in his ass.

 _Good,_ he thinks, _You know he’d look so good._

He should be doing this in the shower, he should be doing it somewhere other than the wall right next to his front door, but he’d come home so hard and so full of irritable want that he’d been holding back for way too long that he really had no other recourse.

It’s probably ruined now, any chance Marco had of seeing him sucking dick or even taking it, Jean’s slim body swallowing him in all possible ways, but he can’t help still wanting it, still seeing it. He fell in love just a few days ago and now he’s falling in lust, both of them feelings for someone who will probably never speak to him again but all he wants is to hear Jean say his name one more time. In anger or in reverence, he doesn’t even care, he just wants his name on Jean’s tongue.

_“Marco.”_

“Nngh, Jean…” He strokes himself harder, faster, clenching his teeth, refusing to think of how everyone he knows seems to have conspired to keep him from sharp hips and a fierce eyes. He barely gets his palm up in time to keep himself from coming all over the wall; that would just be too much right now, even as debauched and selfish as he feels.

Marco pushes back from the wall, hitches his pants up enough to not trip on them on the way to the bathroom, and goes to clean himself up before flopping onto his bed fully clothed, toeing off his shoes, and getting under the covers.

Who cares if he wakes up several hours later and jerks off to Jean again? He’s a goddamn adult and he’s going to do what he wants.

He’s lonely afterwards, though, and stares at Jean’s name in his phone for a long time before making himself some ramen, watching a few episodes of “IT Crowd,” and going back to bed.

Being an adult is somehow awesome and shitty at the same time.

-

Mikasa is a shift leader, so she's the one who lets him into the store the next morning, and while her slightly raised eyebrow confirms his suspicion that he does look like re-microwaved crap, she doesn’t say anything about Jean or temps. It’s not her style, but he’s still grateful anyway. They do their opening chores in silence; Marco stands in front of the coffee maker until the first pot is done, then pours himself a large mug. It’s hard to understand why sleeping so much can leave you feeling so tired, but that’s the human body, apparently.

Someone knocks on the front door to be let in, and Marco lets Mikasa get it. He’s just going to get the vacuum from the storage closet when a pair of gloves is suddenly smacked into his chest and he finds himself looking directly into narrowed golden eyes. Jean’s upper lip is slightly twisted in a half-sneer and his tawny bangs are fluffed out on his forehead around the edges of his black and white hat complete with earflaps, dangling ties, and a yarn bobble on the top.

He looks stupid. He looks gorgeous.

He looks like he wants to punch Marco in the kidneys.

And Marco’s heart twists painfully even as it drops down in his stomach while his should-be-exhausted crotch jerks up. He opens his mouth to say something, say anything, but Jean lets go of the gloves and he’s suddenly struggling to catch them as the other man walks away.

“...I’m sorry,” he finally tries, half to Jean’s back, half to the boxes full of backstock.

Things go downhill from there for no real reason. Everything just seems heavy, burdensome. Even searches he would normally do quite happily seem obnoxious, and no one is selling anything interesting. He’s relieved when he gets to shelve in the business section because it’s always quiet there, just out of the way enough that no customers will come looking for him there.

“Hey,” Reiner’s voice comes over the headsets, “Guess who Bert and I saw at the grocery store yesterday?”

No one responds.

“It was Thomas!” Reiner continues undaunted. When a few moments pass and still none of their coworkers react, he prompts again, “The temp? From the summer?”

Marco feels cold all over, and from somewhere over in the sports section there’s the sound of a book falling and a muffled curse.

 _Oh please no,_ he thinks, _Please not this, not now._

“Thomas?” Eren asks. “Which one was he?”

 _Don’t say it,_ Marco begs to all of them silently, _Please don’t say it-_

“The one who was let go early, remember?” Mikasa says patiently. “For watching youtube videos at the register.”

“Wait, that’s why he got fired?”

“Yeah,” Sasha cracks her gum into the receiver, “Levi was checking the browser history and saw he’d been looking up stuff like the Zapruder film.”

“Seriously?” Eren sounds both personally offended and amused. “Who needs to watch that? It turns out Kennedy gets shot. And then he dies.”

Connie groans, “Man, spoiler alert!”

“Anyway,” Reiner is back now, “He said to say hi. And you wanna know who he’s dating? Mylius, the other temp. I guess they bonded over how much they both wanted Marco.”

Marco stares at the four copies of “Freakonomics” on the shelf and takes a deep breath. Then another. Then a third.

“Wait, they both…” Eren is confused. “Marco, I thought you slept with Thomas.”

“No, it was Mylius,” says Connie thoughtfully.

“Are you sure? Didn’t he say that it was the blond one?”

“They were both blond, Eren.”

“Well, okay, Marco, clear it up for us then.” Reiner’s voice is almost smug and Marco already knows what’s coming. He feels like he wants to throw up. “Which one was it? Or was it both?”

Several more books tumble to the floor, followed by a sound of disgust, and Marco is opening his mouth to finally tell his friends to knock it the hell off, just this once-

“This is a fucking business,” Levi’s monotone is undercut with bored menace, “Can’t we go one day without talking about Bodt’s lousy taste in men?”

“Did I miss something yesterday?” Reiner asks brightly.

“I’ll fill you in on break, dude,” Connie offers, and Marco can’t stand it anymore.

And then it somehow gets as bad as it possibly could.

“Why,” Jean’s voice is filled with disdain, “Is everyone so fucking obsessed with Marco’s sex life?”

He can’t take it anymore.

“All of you just stop, okay? None of it is anyone’s business, and I’m sorry I ever even said anything to any of you about anything, just leave me alone!” Marco can hear his voice breaking. It’s embarrassing. He’s embarrassing. Everything is just stupid. Last night he felt like an adult and now he feels like a child throwing a tantrum. “Levi, I’m taking my ten.”

He drags his headset off and stalks out of the section, through the “employees only” door and out the back. It’s too fucking cold to be without a jacket, but whatever. He folds his arms tightly around his chest and shivers, closes his eyes his and wills the tears back.

The back door opens again after a few moments. He doesn’t turn, but then his coat is forcefully shoved against his arm, and he looks over to see Mikasa, nose buried in the red scarf she always wears. He and Mikasa have never been particularly close, but he does call her a friend, and this is one of those moments he’s glad to know her.

“Go on your break now,” she says.

“No,” Marco clears his throat and shrugs on his coat, “I just need a few more minutes.”

“Go on your break,” she repeats, “Come back in an hour.”

“But the schedule-”

“The schedule can be changed. Levi can deal.” Mikasa’s eyes are dark, but not pitying. “So can the rest of them.”

He wants to tell her that she doesn’t need to say anything, that he can handle it, but today, just this once, Marco nods.

“Okay. I’ll be back in an hour.”

-

He spends an hour in the nearby coffee shop, chewing absently on a stale bagel and staring blankly at the copy of “The Name of the Wind” Armin loaned him, but without any ability to concentrate. Too many characters, too many words. Too many thoughts.

No one is visibly bruised when Marco gets back, but it’s clear that there’s been some kind of group reprimand. Sasha’s lip trembles as she and Connie bound up to hug him, and he can’t help but smile. Reiner hugs him as well, a little too hard and a little too long, his deep voice husky as he apologizes; Marco is glad when he can finally pry himself free. Eren does the coffee run and comes back with a giant caramel mocha for him, complete with whipped cream, sauce, and extra chocolate sprinkles. And at one point during his intake shift, Levi comes up frowning darkly, and holds up a piece of paper.

“I wrote myself up for sexual harassment. I’m sending it to Erwin.”

That makes Marco want to crawl into a box at the bottom of mineshaft, and while he assures Levi that it’s really not necessary, he’s almost certain his boss will do it anyway.

Of course the only person who doesn’t say or do anything is Jean. And why should he? They’re not friends. He doesn’t know anything, he just happened to be caught in a stupid conversation he never wanted to be part of. And who cares if he’s actually the one person Marco wants to be interested in his sex life? It’s not happening.

Stop trying to make Jean happen, he tells himself "Mean Girls"-style, drinking his coffee too fast and coughing a little. Just stop. Let it go.

And that’s what he’s going to do, he’s decided as he walks to his car, he’s going to give up this silly feeling that honestly shouldn’t be more than a dumb crush, and just work with the guy until Jean gets so fed up that he transfers to another store. It won’t be long now, he’s sure.

When he sits down in the driver’s seat, he pulls out his phone to hook up to the radio, and notices he’s missed a text.

**> >From: Jean  
sorry i guess Marco**

It shouldn’t mean anything. It really shouldn’t. But it makes him think _Jean you moron, you’re going to get in trouble for texting at work again,_ and brings the stupid tears back to Marco’s eyes. He’s not sure if he’s strangely relieved or disappointed in himself for knowing even that much more that he’s still falling in love and it’s almost definitely not going to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Thomas, he's like the fandom bicycle. Or was it Mylius? Only Marco knows for sure, apparently.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidents happen. Somehow for Marco, they always seem to involve Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned yet how excited I am about all the kudos and readers and everything? I dunno if I mentioned that. I'm super excited and so grateful and I don't know that I can never say it enough. Thank you. 
> 
> There's a rumor that gorgeous[ Joanna Estep](http://joannatestep.tumblr.com) might even draw more [artses](http://24.media.tumblr.com/bfcd8f74a83a5814d20876be664c8b39/tumblr_n3xqe3EXil1qa8gygo1_500.jpg) for it someday. Right now, though, she seems to be unable to do anything except yell about how much she hates me. Betatastic Heichousquad [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [ToriColourBastia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/pseuds/ToriColourBastia) don't hate me though, nor does Her Grace [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks). Or they're planning to kill me in my sleep. I guess it's surprise.

The next few days are subdued. Sasha calls in sick for a shift and Connie’s entire demeanor is changed - on one hand, he shelves three entire bins of fiction in record time. On the other, he does it in such profound, mournful silence that even Levi seems creeped out by his efficiency. Jean avoids Marco as much as possible, or maybe it’s the other way around. Marco tries not to think about it. The highlight of the week becomes a guy calling on the phone and asking Bert to do a search for “The Big Penis Book” which apparently -and particularly hilariously to Reiner- comes in several sizes (he and the caller are disappointed when it can only be located out of state with no exact determination of which version it is, and Bert refuses to speak to Reiner for the rest of the day).

It’s officially February when Marco finds himself at intake with Jean again. It’s a comfort and a torture to be near him. His feelings have plateaued for the moment, it seems, but there’s still an ache just in the center of his chest. And it almost seems like Jean is casting furtive glances at him every few moments, but that can only be in his imagination.

He’s cleaning up after the latest sale (what would a day be without getting covered in other people’s cat hair?) when he hears a strange sound, a cardboard creak. There’s a stack of cd flats over five feet high behind Jean’s station; they’ve been there for a few days, a holding place for the hundreds of discs people bring in until they can be priced or tossed. Marco only notices now, however, that they were foolishly piled on top of a box labeled “comics” that wasn’t entirely full and has begun to fold into itself. Several hundred cds are beginning to list to the side. The creak becomes a crunch as the box gives.

His body and mouth act at the same time.

“Jean!” he says as he’s jumping forward, pushing the other boy out of the way just as the stack comes crashing down. He feels a sharp plastic corner scratch down his right cheek just missing his eye. One of the cardboard flats connects with his temple, and another smashes directly into his side.

It’s been nearly two months since his surgery, and honestly most of the time, unless he’s lifting something particularly heavy or awkward he forgets he even had it. But the impact takes his breath away and as he drops to his knees, more cases bouncing against his back and spraying across the counter onto the floor, he thinks two things: first, it hurts less than he would have expected, and second, god it still hurts incredibly much holy fucking shit.

“Whoa!” he can hear Eren’s heavy footsteps coming closer. “Oh my god, what happened? Are you guys all right?!”

He can’t answer. He feels himself gasping, his lungs won’t work, and that makes it hurt worse. The next few moments are a blur. They might even be more than a few moments, he’s not sure anymore. It’s taking everything to go from one instant to the next, to get through it, and he thinks, maybe, that Jean’s hand might be on his shoulder, and that it’s Hanji’s voice from above saying “he’s bleeding,” and then…

It’s not a black-out, but it’s a grey-out, that’s for certain, because the next thing he’s aware of, Marco is sitting on the couch in the break room while Hanji mops his face with a damp paper towel and Jean leans against the table with an expression something like nauseous concern.

“Marco?” Hanji asks. “Hon, can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah…” The words feel sticky and rough, but he gets them out. “Sorry, I...I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Jean mutters, folding his arms across his chest.

Eren bursts into the room, cordless phone in hand.

“Did you still want me to call 911?”

Marco groans, then winces as Hanji’s towel scrapes across a stinging stretch of his cheek.

“Don’t call 911, I’m okay, really.”

Jean’s eyes haven’t left his face.

“You know, you could have just shouted at me to move, you didn’t have to jump in the way like some kind of magical hero.”

Eren snorts.

“Civilized people would just say ‘thank you’ or something.”

“What would you know about being civilized?” Jean tosses back.

“You wanna go, asshole? You wanna go right now?”

“Hey!” Hanji’s voice is harder than usual, her glasses catching the light, flashing ominously. “Since Marco’s injured I already have to write up an incident report. Do you want me to add conduct issues for both of you as well?”

Eren backs down and Marco slumps a little more deeply against the couch, forcing a smile.

“I’ll be fine, you guys, really, I just need a few minutes.”

“You look like you’re gonna barf.”

“Jean, do you actually have a reason to be back here?” Hanji is opening an alcohol wipe now and pressing it against Marco’s face. He winces. “Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

“...I-”

“No, you don’t, so why don’t you go help clean up at intake instead of just standing there like a boiled owl.”

“...boiled owl?”

“You heard me.”

“No,” Marco finds himself saying, “He can stay. I don’t mind.”

He can feel Hanji’s eyes boring into the cut...and then she laughs under her breath.

“All right, Jean, why don’t you drive our boy to urgent care then.”

“I don’t need-”

“He doesn’t-”

“Oh I’m sorry, which one of us is the assistant store manager with medical training?”

Marco blinks at Hanji.

“You have medical training?”

“In my past life I was a real doctor from America, you’re going to urgent care, Marco.”

“Then I can drive myse-”

“Nope! Dr. Hanji’s orders!” She chirps, getting up off the couch and grabbing both their coats off the hooks on the walls and tossing them at the speechless boys. “Get in the car!”

Marco tries to lever himself off the couch with a sigh that quickly becomes a grunt of discomfort, and to his surprise Jean is at his side to help him. Once they’re both standing and in their coats, Jean pulls his dorky hat out of his pocket and drags it on. He looks at Marco, his face unreadable.

“Your ambulance awaits.” His voice is almost...soft.

If Marco had even had a choice before, he certainly doesn’t now. He follows Jean to his car, and sinks into the slightly familiar seat. And once again the ride is silent, but Marco, leaning his bruised, scratched cheek against the cool window, doesn’t really mind.

-

He’s poked, prodded, and pricked, the cut extending down his face butterflyed shut. They give him low dose of some high-grade painkillers, a prescription for an oral version of the same, and the recommendation that he call back if experiences any backlash from the area around his missing organ. It’s reassuring, but the whole ordeal makes Marco feel very tired, and when he’s finally released an hour and a half later, he’s surprised to find Jean still in the waiting room reading a copy of “Redbook.”

“Anything good?” Marco asks, lowering his still sore body into the chair next to him. The painkillers haven’t quite kicked in yet.

“Well after the bit about the ginormous salad that would help me lose ten pounds, I was looking forward to the article on ‘Fancy Pants That Make Your Butt Look Great’ but it was kind of a let down.” Jean doesn’t look up.

“Your butt already looks great,” Marco murmurs, apparently not under his breath enough because Jean’s eyes snap over to him, his cheeks flaring pink. Oh. There’s the medication.

“Uh?” He says smartly.

“Er...you didn’t have to wait around, you know,” Marco plunges wildly in another, hopefully more neutral direction, trying to get his suddenly wavy thoughts under control.

“How would you have gotten home?” Jean’s expression quickly shifts into something like relief. Or disappointment. Or just his face.

“I could have texted Ymir,” Marco says, barely realizing that he’s made another misstep when Jean’s face screws into a dark scowl. But this time...he doesn’t entirely care.

“...is Ymir your cousin?”

“Yeah.”

“She sounds like a winner, how old is she, twelve?”

“Um,” Marco clears his throat and glances away, trying to focus on an ornamental plant. “She’ll actually be thirty this month.”

Jean blanches. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah, she’s...something else.” Jean opens his mouth to respond and something surges in Marco, cutting him off. “Yeah, I know it’s seems like it’s an awful something else, and I’m sorry about what she said to you, but if you’re honestly still upset about that, you need to get over yourself.”

“I-” Jean sputters.

“I said I was sorry ages ago.”

“But...she……….didn’t!”

Dimly, Marco is aware he’s feeling even more exhausted and possibly too truthful, but it’s impossible to stop the torrent now.

“So what? Are you just gonna be mad forever because she told you stuff that was actually personal about me? Because I got done being mad at her a while ago and it’s really kind of petty. It’s one of the reasons probably no one likes you at work, except I think they really could. You just don’t want them to like you because then you’d have to actually be less awful. I really don’t get you at all.” Jean is staring at him, his mouth still hanging open. Marco is sorry...or it seems like he should be sorry, but his side feels muddy and his thoughts are sludgy and he’s tired of making excuses for himself, for Ymir, even for Jean. “And yeah, I slept with one of the summer temps. Not both of them. I could have, but I didn’t. And then I kissed and told because I like to talk to my friends. So what. I haven’t dated since college and I can’t just go to Club Epic all the time.” Pause. Deep breath. He’s starting to lose any kind of concentration. “I mean, my own Club Epic. I don’t watch Ymir masturbate.”

There’s a moment where he’s sure everyone in the small waiting room is looking directly at him, and half of him is trying to figure out if he should care while the other half is trying not to just laugh hysterically. Jean is sitting stock still, his eyes wild and those stupid fluffy bangs...fluffed out under his hat again. He does look like a boiled owl, he decides, and Marco snorts trying to hold the snicker in.

“I do like you, though. Maybe because you suck so much. I don’t know.” He shakes his head and giggles a little.

Jean is on his feet, and Marco slides further down in his chair, looking up at him, wondering if Jean might punch him in the face right in the cut he got saving him from the cascade of cds. Ungrateful jerk. He’d be so gorgeous if he just tried, and he doesn’t even have to try. He is gorgeous. With or without fancy butt pants.

Before anything happens, though, before anything else is said or any more injuries administered, there’s a strangled squawk and Jean is shoved out of the way so Ymir can crouch in front of him.

“Honey!” Her hands go for his face then seeing the cut and waver, fluttering on either side of his head instead. “Eren texted me! How’s your side? How’s your head? Let me take you home.”

“Oh, so you’re Ymir,” Jean has his arms crossed tightly against his chest now.

She furrows her brow and looks up at him, her mood going from concerned to bitchface in less than a second.

“Yeah, who the fuck are you?”

Marco waves a his hand limply between them.

“Ymir, this is Jean. Jean, this is Ymir. Ymir, tell him I don’t watch you masturbate.”

“Oh my god!” Jean looks like he wants to die. “Stop saying that!”

“He doesn’t, though, he hates to pay the cover charge.” She smiles nastily at Jean. “You’re cuter than I expected, for a total suckbucket.” When Marco laughs at that, she raises an eyebrow. “What did they give him?”

“Hell if I fuckin’ know,” Jean turns away. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Well excuse me, princess, I guess that makes it me.” She grabs Marco’s left arm and pulls him up, then slings the limb over her shoulder. “And we’re walking, yes, good boy, you remember what walking is.”

“I’m not drunk,” Marco rolls his eyes and stumbles against her. “You know what I’m like when I’m drunk.”

“Do I ever,” she says, glancing over at Jean with a shit-eating grin. “You should hear the mouth on this boy when he’s schnockered, it’d shock a dockside hooker.”

Jean seems to sink deeper into his collar, somewhere between infuriated and humiliated, but follows them anyway. When they’re outside, the first gust of sharp winter wind clears Marco’s head enough that he looks over his shoulder.

“Thanks for driving me, Jean,” he tries to convey appreciation with his smile, but then the drugs kick back in and decide he should add a saucy wink and a nearly-purred “See you at work.”

Rational sober Marco will be horrified by this later, but for the moment, he’s content to be shoved into Ymir’s car, leaning against the window and wiggling his fingers cheerily at Jean until he’s out of sight.

“He’s cute,” Ymir says finally, “I mean, if you’re into skinny douches that need like twenty dicks in them”

“I don’t want twenty dicks in him,” Marco hears himself whine sleepily. “I just want mine.”

“I know, honey.”

“I’d dick him real good.”

“I know you would,” Ymir’s voice is somewhere to the left. He can feel her hand patting his leg and the car is warm and he’s so warm and he’s so sleepy. “Hey if you fall asleep, I’m leaving you in the car.”

He does it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was curious, everything about "The Big Penis Book" is a true story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a diffence a day makes. Or at least a day and some coffee and mutual book-nerdery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy hey, did I ever mention how incredibly touched and excited I am by all the people who have being reading and leaving kudos and visiting me on tumblr? Because if I haven't, I really should. I'm continually astounded by the response I've gotten and it means so much to me. All of you are awesome and I'd hug you all in the face if I could. 
> 
> Responsibility for me not falling into a fic-related ditch goes to the usual crew: my sun and stars [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), Heichousquad [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), and Queen Beyond the Wall [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks), who always deserves love and devotion but could especially use it this week.

Ymir doesn’t make him sleep in the car. He wakes up fully clothed in his own bed with enough memory of what he’d said to Jean to be slightly chagrined, but not really regret it. After all, it’s not like he had anything to lose in their non-relationship. He showers, being careful the with his bruised side, and replaces the tiny hospital bandages with a few well-placed Batman bandaids. It’s a little silly, but it’s not like he’s going to a beauty contest.

What does end up being a problem, though, is the fact that his car was left in the store parking lot over night, so he’s forced to take the bus. And normally that would be fine, a minor inconvenience, but today the road is rough, the bus is crowded, between the claustrophobia and the wet heat of bodies pressed against his sore side, Marco feels fairly motion sick by the time he gets to work. He checks in with Levi to prove he’s not dead or horribly mangled, then hangs up his coat before sitting down on the couch to settle his stomach.

“Hey man,” Connie comes in to make more coffee, “I heard about your dramatic rescue of Jean yesterday. Couldn’t you just’ve let him be crushed?”

“Sorry,” Marco half-smiles. Without the painkillers, the skins pulls and stings. “It’s not really in my nature.”

“You sure? Cuz that badass gash makes you look just a little super-villain.”

“Does it?” Marco raises his hand to his face. “Oh, well then. You’d better watch out.”

“Dark Marco’s in the house!” Connie crows to Sasha as she enters the breakroom.

She considers Marco’s cheek and nods.

“Could we shorten it to ‘Darco,’ though?”

“No,” Connie makes a face, “Then I’ll want to call him ‘Marky Darco’ because of ‘Donnie Darko’ and that’s just lame.”

“But he needs something, ‘dark Marco’ is hard to say.”

Marco sighs and stands up stiffly.

“Well I’ll let you two experts handle it, run it past me later.”

For the next few hours, they toss things back and forth across the headsets (Marco quickly nixes “Hans Evildorff” and “Freckled Satan,” although “Poxface Von Greatness” is pretty funny), but eventually it devolves into Simpsons references and coming up with increasingly weird names for one another and pretending they’re on walkie-talkies. By coffee run time, Marco has pretty much tuned them out.

“Honey Burger. Honey Burger this is Taters, come in Honey Burger, over.”

“This is Honey Burger, Taters, I read you, over.”

He can see Bert mouthing “Honey burger?” to Annie, who just shakes her head and shrugs.

“Honey Burger, I know you’re doing the coffee run today, so I’m changing my order. Can you get me a chocolate caramel chai instead of my usual?” Brief pause. “Over.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Anyone else want anything different today? You got five minutes before I’m going, you don’t speak up, you get your standard order.”

There’s a few flickers of words -”I’m good,” from Bert, “Same,” from Annie, an annoyed semi-hiss from Levi and a “no thank you,” from Armin- and Marco is about to answer himself when Jean cuts in.

“I’ll do it.”

A silence falls over the headsets that last a good twenty seconds.

“Uh...sorry,” Marco can practically hear Connie’s stunned expression, “What?”

“I said,” Jean’s voice is annoyed but missing its usual haughty edge. “That I’ll do the run. It’s my turn, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have a turn,” Annie responds dryly. “You wouldn’t do it, so we took you out of the loop.”

“Well I’m offering now,” Jean snaps, “I want to take my turn, okay? Loop me.”

There's another long, unsettling silence as everyone seems to be trying to decide whether or not this is a weird attempt at a sinister joke or if maybe a heavy book or four has fallen on Jean's head.

"You don't know anyone's order," Annie's voice is warily exasperated.

"Uh, I have a list," Armin supplies, and of course he does. He's just that organized. "If no one but Sasha is changing their order, you can just come in back and I'll give it to you, Jean."

"Yeah, okay," he says, unspoken challenge in his voice. "What's your order change again, Sasha?"

Thrown by having Jean actually use her name, Sasha stumbles through the specifics. Marco listens, feeling strangely awkward, and catches Annie and Bert having a conversation solely with their eyes. It's entirely possible they can communicate through telepathy too, it wouldn't surprise him at this point. But he can pretty much sense what it was about, since he's fairly certain all of them are having the same thought: "what the fuck is going on with Jean and are we all about to die?"

Jean and his silly hat leave a few moments later, and there's an immediate impromptu meeting around the register. Even Armin emerges from the back, hair gathered up in a tight ponytail that he keeps reaching around to tug at.

"I just want you guys to know," Connie intones solemnly, "That if he poisons us all, and we die, it was a pleasure working with you."

"Did something happen yesterday?" Bert absently raises his hand to his mouth, chewing slightly on the cuff of his sweater (one of his many nervous habits). Annie nudges him with her elbow and he stops. "I mean, aside from Marco's accident."

"Jean took you to the hospital, didn't he?" Armin asks, and Marco shifts a little under his irritatingly perceptive gaze.

"Um, yeah. Why?" Armin raises an eyebrow and Marco looks away. "What? Hanji made him."

"You said something, didn't you."

"I said a lot of things," Marco folds his arms across his chest, then drops them, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking forward on the balls of his feet. He's not immune to nervous tics either. When that answer doesn't seem to satisfy anyone, he tries, "I was drugged?"

"Is that a question?" Annie's expression mimics Armin's now, twin tiny blonds of dubious malice.

Marco sighs.

"They gave me painkillers and I started rambling about how no one but me likes him because he sucks and how I think he acts like that on purpose because he's...I dunno, got some weird issues." He rubs his face, too late remembering the cut and wincing. "I got defensive, I wasn't thinking."

For a few instants, the only sound is a wet fabric-y tug as Bert's sweater cuff returns to his mouth.

".........huh," is Armin's eventual response. "Well...I guess it's true...."

"He's going to kill us all." Connie nods, taking Sasha's hand.

"If he does, I hope he at least get my drink right," Sasha frowns, squeezing Connie's hand back. "It’s one of the secret ones, I'd like to go out on a high note."

"Let him try," Annie scoffs, "See what happens to him. Let's get back to work," she says, pulling firmly on Bert's arm to dislodge the soggy cuff. Then she puts her hand on Armin's lower back and gently pushes. "Go on, I'll bring you your drink when he gets back. "

Armin blushes, and there's a quick exchange of glances between Marco, Connie and Sasha. That's an interesting development. It might even be worth looking into if they survive the day.

It's nearly twenty minutes before Jean returns, and Marco's stomach has thoroughly tied itself in a number of boyscout badge-worthy knots - _what if he purposely gets their drinks wrong and Annie and Sasha kill him? What if he does poison them? What if he never even comes back?_ \- by the time he's walking in with the drink holders. He stops at the intake counter and begins to unload them, carrying each drink to its recipient like a friendly waiter. That's even more unnerving, and Marco is as sweaty as Bert in a sauna by the time Jean walks up to him, looks him straight in the eye, and hands him his cup.

"Caramel macchiato," he says, holding his gaze much longer than necessary, almost challenging, almost...sultry, before walking away.

Marco stares into the tiny mouthpiece of the cup and swallows hard. Everything feels slow and intense and deliberate. This the most meaning-laden coffee he's ever been given and he doesn't know how to interpret it.

"It's not poisoned," Annie comes over the headsets. "I checked mine and Armin's."

There's an audible sigh of relief from Bert and Sasha, but Connie asks, "Hey why does my cup say 'Monkeyface?'"

"Does it?" Jean's voice is surprisingly light. "Wow, they must have spelled your name wrong."

"Dude it takes profound effort to misspell my name into two entirely different words."

"Maybe they have very special people working for them."

"Mine says 'Tacomouth!'" Sasha sputters, and it takes Marco a minute to realize that the current in her voice isn't rage...it's laughter. "Oh my god, you jerk!"

"Hokey-pokey? ...Oh, I get it. 'Arm in, arm out,' ha ha." Armin's eyeroll is audible.

"...Berthoot? Really?" Bert sighs. "You couldn't come up with anything better?"

"What, like 'sweatscraper?'"

"Annie!"

"Mm. Mine just says 'Annie,'" she says, and no one says what they're all thinking: no matter how funny you think you are, you don't fuck with Annie.

"Gosh, they must really have serious problems over there. I'm sure I gave them your guys' names right."

Jean sounds funny. Marco looks at where he's standing by the record display and realizes why - he's smiling. He's actually smiling. And finally Marco looks at the writing on his own cup.

Marco Butt.

It's not particularly original or clever, but Marco can't help himself. He bursts out laughing. In amusement, in relief, in silly stupid unequivocal warm feeling. And Jean looks over at him, grinning. Marco raises his cup in Jean's direction, then drinks his coffee. He can swear it's never tasted so good.

-

It’s like someone kicked a hole in the wall between Jean and the rest of the store. It’s still standing, sure, but there’s traffic back and forth now, there’s exchange and what feels to Marco like fresh air and strengthening sunlight. He wants to bask in it, to carefully walk through. This time he and Jean are going to meet halfway and do it right. This is going to work.

So he can’t help being a little jealous when Connie and Sasha run through ahead of him like it’s their jobs. If Jean’s had any time to put up temporary fences they leap over them; they chatter at him and try to get him to play walkie-talkie with them; they ask him whether or not he knows every show they ritually quote until they find one he also watches, and for at least two days the headsets become the “All IT-Crowd Quotes” radio station in which Jean only kind of participates; he seems either shocked or shy or both. (Marco is tempted to join in a few times, since it’s one of his favorite shows too, and he’s a little hurt that they never tried to play this game with him, but Levi finally ends it by saying that he’s going to make his own “ludicrous display” of their heads if they don’t fucking knock it off before Marco gets up the nerve.)

With that taken away, they start quizzing Jean on his movie and book preferences, like he and Marco had done that night in the car. When Jean stands by “The Jerk” as his favorite movie and is met with gales of laughter from the duo, Marco braces himself for an explosion.

But it doesn’t come.

“Knock it off,” Jean grumbles, pointedly not throwing any sort of fit, “It’s not that funny.”

“It is, though,” Connie says, “Because YOU’RE a jerk! Right? Right?!”

Jean makes a disgusted snort, then shocks Marco by responding with, “Because I’ve never heard that one before.”

“H-hey,” Marco can’t help stuttering into the microphone, leaning around the nearest fiction shelf to glance at Jean shelving in Metaphysics. “When I laughed, you got mad.”

Jean doesn’t turn around, but Marco watches him duck his head a little and rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well,” Jean says, then clears this throat, as if that’s a satisfactory answer. “...You like ‘The Thing,’ so.”

“Oh man,” Connie says, “That’s right, do you remember when we watched it that time, Sash? And there was the part with the dog and you cried for like an hour.”

“Shut up, dumbass!”

“It’s cute, though!”

“Yeah, well, Connie’s STILL afraid to watch ‘Secret of NIMH’ because it makes _him_ cry and he hasn’t even seen it since he was a kid!”

Connie’s shocked gasp can be heard without a headset.

“You traitorous hussy! You said you’d never tell anyone!”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“The movie is scary, though,” Jean cuts in, “Way scarier than the book. Nicodemus isn’t actually all freakish and withered and the Owl isn’t threatening.”

“Oh yeah?” Connie’s voice is teasing. “Since when do you know so much about it?”

Marco realizes he’s still staring at Jean when the other man kneels down to put something away and he sees his face in profile - lips soft and parted, cheeks slightly flushed with self-consciousness.

“It’s like...my favorite young adult book,” he says, clearing his throat again. “It was, I mean. I read it like 34 times in elementary school.”

“...............really?” Marco doesn’t actually recognize the voice as his until Jean looks up at him, brows lowering.

“What? What’s your clever response this time, Marco?” Jean stands and puts his hands on his thin hips, face a sassy challenge. “You don’t think I’d actually enjoy rodents?”

“I don’t know,” Marco is blushing now, feeling like a heel and a jerkass. “I thought maybe you’d be more into the Matt Christopher sports books, or Hardy Boys.”

“Hardy Boys? Really?” Jean cocks his hip and curls his lip slightly. “If anyone is a Hardy Boys fan here it’s you, Goody Two-Spots.”

“Oooh, girl.” Sasha whistles. “The gloves are coming off.”

Marco’s heart starts to pound for no good reason.

“No, I...first of all, Nancy Drew could kick Frank and Joe’s butts-”

“Amen!” Connie interjects.

“But I liked ‘Where the Red Fern Grows’ and-”

“Oh my god, seriously?” Jean’s mouth drops open. “Are you for fucking real? No one likes that book. It’s like canned trauma. I had nightmares for a week when my teacher read it to us in third grade.”

“Yeah, jeez, speaking about crying over dogs,” Sasha mutters. “Wow, Marco. What else were you gonna say, ‘Old Yeller?’ ‘Marley and Me?’”

He grinds his teeth for a moment.

“I thought it was a really touching story, but no, I was gonna say ‘Fallen Angels.’”

“Walter Dean Myers?” Jean says. “Christ, did you read anything other than tragic coming of age stories?”

“I just like feeling things deeply, I don’t see what’s wrong with that.” Marco can feels himself clutching the handle of his scanner, defensive and weirdly aroused by this...combative book flirting. “I like it when I’m touched.”

There’s a long, awkward pause, and Jean’s eyes widen a little.

“I mean!” Marco sputters, knowing that now he’s bordering on resembling a squished strawberry. “By books or movies or music or whatever!”

_And boys like Jean,_ his inner Ymir hisses, and he quickly slides behind the shelf, obscuring himself from Jean’s view or maybe vice versa.

“Marco is a gentle old soul,” Connie declares, “Far too mature for his age then as now. He’s an inspiration to us all. I, for one, was deeply committed to Dr. Seuss until I was 15.”

“You’re still committed,” Sasha taunts, “You can barely read above that level now.”

“Oh have I got a wocket in my pocket for you.”

“Ew ew ew!” She giggles, totally thrilled.

Marco pulls his headset off at that, rubbing a hand through his hair with a sigh. He runs a finger under his nose, absently staring at the shelf and trying to remember what he was doing. Jean leans around the corner.

“Hey,” he says, and Marco feels all the air leave his body.

“Yeah?”

He sounds dizzy. He feels dizzy. Jean has come to him. Jean is walking closer. And then he stops, and suddenly looks unsure, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking down and biting his lip for a moment before taking a deep breath and raising his eyes.

“Do you wanna get something to eat after we’re off?”

Marco very nearly asks if this is a joke, but manages to stop himself, and instead offers a sound something like “Hnnngghhh?”

Jean makes a weird face at him.

“...or not, okay, that’s fine too.”

“No!” Marco is reaching toward him again, then pulls his hand back quickly. “I mean yes! Yeah, I’d like that.” He grins. “A lot.”

“Cool,” Jean settles back into a relaxed posture, “The Wonder Twins invited me to a place downtown with good burgers, but I dunno if I can deal with being their third wheel in a non-work setting.”

Marco feels his smile slip. He shouldn’t be disappointed. He really shouldn’t. He should have known better than to think Jean would ask him out on his own or ask him out period. He fixes his face back into cheerful position.

“I’ve done it more than once, I’m happy to give a guy a hand.”

Jean raises his eyebrow, and for a moment Marco wonders if he’s thinking about the night at the hospital when Marco said that thing about his butt, ( _oh god don’t think about Jean’s butt_ ) and he quickly turns away before he ends up making any incriminating expressions.

“...okay. See you after work, then,” Jean says, and walks away.

Marco leans forward, resting his head next to the shelf label that reads “Alphabetical By Author.” When he stops feeling stupidly faint, he realizing his smile has become genuine again. It may not be a date, but it’s something.

It’s somewhere. And he’s going there with Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nancy Drew 4 lyfe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it a date or isn't it? Whatever it is, it's some kind of progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one this week! How did this happen I can't come down I don't know how it works. 
> 
> I don't know if I've thanked everyone who's been reading enough yet. THANK YOU. It continues to mean a lot to me, especially since I had kind of cruddy week. 
> 
> You know who else has been experiencing May doldrums? My beautiful [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who is working her butt off on super incredible project. She needs hugs. You should always hug Heichousquad [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls), and bend the knee and kiss the hand of [MonkeySocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks), who is basically royalty.

Marco gets off work last, and by the time he arrives at the restaurant -a place downtown near Connie and Sasha’s apartment- the other three are already mostly through the first round of drinks. Marco raises an eyebrow at Jean’s glass, chewed-straw and all, and Jean scowls.

“It’s Coke, mom, Jesus.”

“We tried to get him to put rum in it, but he wussed out.” Sasha is sucking on the orange from Connie’s Blue Moon and her companion seems oddly transfixed by this.

“I don’t blame him after last time you were involved in getting him drinks,” Marco slides into the booth next to Connie, wondering slightly why he and Sasha aren’t sitting on the same side. It’s weirdly date-like of them, and then it occurs to him that they both know he likes Jean, so of course they’d sit in such a way that Marco could look at him. He’s not sure whether to thank them or kick them both in the shins.

Connie leans close, whispering, “Don’t say we never did nuthin’ fer ya’,” before patting his thigh and then picking up the menu. Marco is glad the light is dim; he’s pretty done with this whole blushing thing for today.

Their waitress appears, tall and blond and cheerful as summer sunshine. “So, who’s ready?”

Once they’ve ordered, they slip into easy conversation. It’s a lot like being at work, honestly, although Jean seems to be feeling a bit more withdrawn now. He’s mostly quiet, looking around at the “vintage local sports team” decor and adding a few observations here and there. When their food comes Sasha and Connie take to it like starved wolverines, and Jean, carefully eating his fries one by one, looks a bit unnerved.

“You get used to it, I promise,” Marco smiles around his burger, and Jean snorts.

They eat in companionable silence for a few more moments, before Sasha busts out with, “So why did you leave Trost?”

Jean chokes a little, coughs, then takes a long pull of his soda before glaring at Sasha.

“Why are you all so nosy?”

“Everyone’s been wondering,” Connie shrugs, “Just no one ever thought you’d talk to us.”

Jean scrunches up his nose and looks uncomfortable, picking up the ketchup bottle and turning it around in his hands.

“I just did, okay?”

“Pffft, yeah, we totally buy that.”

Jean scowls and puts the bottle down. Then picks it up again. The puts it down again. It’s all Marco can do to not reach across the table and take Jean’s hand to keep him from doing it another time.

“...I needed a change,” he huffs, a little indignant. “I’m from Trost. I grew up there, I went to school there, I was getting tired of it.”

“So your family’s there?”

“Yeah,” Jean shifts, “My mom and my baby sister.”

“No…special someone?”

Marco tenses immediately. Somehow the idea of Jean being in a long distance relationship had never occurred to him, and now his stomach twists uncomfortably around his dinner.

“Subtle.” Jean rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Reeeeaaaaally?” Connie and Sasha both lean toward him and Jean smushes himself into the corner of the booth.

“No!”

Marco finds himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. That answers one fairly important question, but there’s another one and he half-hopes, half-dreads that they’ll bring it up. Having few personal boundaries, Sasha goes for it.

“V or D?”

“What?”

“Vajayjay or vanaynay?” Connie cocks his head to the side.

“Oh my god,” Jean slouches against the wall, and Marco is sure he’s a bit flushed. “I swear to god all of you are way too obsessed with sex. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this store. Incestuous.”

“Pssh, come on,” Sasha tosses a bit of fry at him. “Only two people in the store are actually dating each other.”

“Two people other than you guys?”

“We’re not dating,” they say in perfect sync, and there’s a weird moment of silence.

“Bert and Reiner, though.” Connie starts picking at the label of his beer bottle. “You did know that, right?”

Jean looks confused.

“I thought maybe Bert was with Annie.”

“No, Annie’s just their friend. She lives upstairs from them.”

“Apparently Annie likes Armin,” Marco offers. “Remember the other day?.”

“Oh yeah!” Sasha perks up from where she’s been watching Connie’s hands. “She was all touching his back and testing his coffee to make sure Jean didn’t poison it!”

Jean sulkily mumbles, “Should’ve maybe poisoned you two,” and is promptly ignored.

“No but Bert and Reiner have known each other since they were kids and have been together for like eight hundred years.”

“Well, since college,” Marco adds wryly. “Ymir can tell you more about that.”

Jean makes a slight face at “Ymir” but stays quiet.

“College, eight hundred years, whatever. Connie and I have only known each other since college and it feels like eight hundred years.”

“Longer than that,” Connie’s voice is nearly wistful, and a thought starts stirring in the back of Marco’s mind. He’ll give it more attention later. “Like a thousand. A lifetime of lifetimes.”

“That’s good!” Sasha exclaims, pointing at him. “I like that. Very poetic.” She takes out her phone and opens a note, typing into it quickly. “I’m saving that as a possible title for our memoirs.”

Connie seems to get taller at that, grinning broadly, hands suddenly more sure at his label-peeling.

“Yeah anyway…” Jean swats a wandering Sasha-hand away from his fries. “So Bert and Reiner. Armin and Annie.”

“Eren likes Levi,” Marco volunteers, then quickly claps a hand over his mouth. Back in November, when Marco had been driving a drunk Eren home from one of Ymir’s DJ events, he’d talked nonstop about his feelings for their manager, sworn Marco to secrecy, and then passed out with his face on the dashboard. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t supposed to-”

“Do you seriously think we don’t know?” Sasha laughs.

Marco blinks at her.

“Yeah, bro, come on.” Connie slings his arm around Marco’s shoulders. “Give us a little credit. Some people are more obvious than others.”

If that’s a jab at him, Marco chooses to ignore it and picks up a straw wrapper from the table. Fuck, it must be Jean’s. Again.

“Eren’s about as subtle as a brick to the face, Marco, everyone knows he has a crush on Levi. Even Levi. I’ve heard Hanji teasing him about it through the office door.”

“Every possible offense to Jaeger, but I don’t see Levi being into him.”

“I think he's kind of weirdly fond of Eren, and appreciates the power it gives him,” Sasha muses, “But I don’t think Eren’s really his type. I’m not sure who or what is, really. Maybe like...a mop. A bottle of Lysol.”

“Hospital grade hand sanitizer.”

Jean, nods, then almost shyly asks, “What about Mikasa?”

Marco’s heart clenches again.

“Oh god,” Sasha groans, “Really?”

“Dude, that train has sailed. That train sailed before you even got to the station.”

“Trains don’t sail, moron.”

“And you have about as much chance as a metaphor, nutbutt.” Connie flips him off.

“We’re pretty certain Mikasa’s Ace,” Sasha says, simply.

“Hell yeah she is.”

Marco clears his throat.

“Uh, no, not like that, Jean.” He has the full attention of those hazel eyes now, and he shifts uncomfortably. “She doesn’t talk about it, but we think she’s ‘Ace’ as in asexual.”

Jean stares at him hard for a moment, then drops his gaze down to the table.

“Ah.” It’s a soft exhalation. Jean’s face is as tight and careless as ever, but Marco thinks he can see a hint of disappointment, and his heart breaks a little. He’s not sure for whom.

“Sorry, bro, it’s not always something people really want to advertise, and definitely not when it’s your first day on the job. And even if she wasn’t, she’d probably be with Annie, if she weren’t with Armin, if she is with Armin.”

“You know what I always kinda thought though?” Sasha is reaching for Marco’s fries now, and he lets her take a few. “That Armin had a thing for Eren.”

“They are super tight.” Connie nods.

“They grew up together like Bert and Reiner,” Marco muses, still looking at Jean. Did Jean grow up with anyone? If he did where are they now?

“By that logic, wouldn’t you be with Ymir?”

“Huh?”

“If everyone who grows up together ends up together, shouldn’t you be banging your cousin?”

Marco gives Sasha his darkest glare, which only makes her laugh.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Besides, he doesn’t like to watch her masturbate,” Jean mutters, and Marco has the terrific urge to go fling himself into traffic.

“What?!” Connie and Sasha are synced again, twin expressions of intrigued horror on their faces.

“Nothing,” Marco says, “I was saying some weird stuff the other night when I was drugged.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But no.” Marco slides out of the booth. “I need to use the restroom, ‘scuse me.”

Connie gives him a long, strange look, then turns back to the table. He can hear them ganging up on Jean for further information and feels a little bit sorry.

Then he remembers Jean’s continuing interest in Mikasa and feels considerably less sorry.

People might think Marco is a saint, but no one actually ever said he was.

-

When he returns to the table, Connie and Sasha are gone. He blinks at Jean.

“They always talk about pulling a ‘dine and ditch’ but I never thought they’d actually go through with it.”

Jean snorts, jamming his straw against the ice at the bottom of his empty glass.

“They saw some people they know at the bar and wanted to go say hi.”

“Oh. Cool.” He sits down again and looks at Jean.

Jean looks back.

After a creepily long time, Marco clears his throat and glances down at their plates.

“So uh…you don’t like pickles?” Yes, brilliant conversation tactic, Marco. Well done.

“Not really,” Jean shrugs.

“...can I have them?”

“Oh, uh. Sure, yeah.” Jean offers his plate over and Marco carefully picks off the abandoned pickles, trying to distract himself with their sour crunch.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They fall into painful silence again, and Marco searches his brain for something to say. They talked so easily that night in the car, how did they do that? What should he say? What can he ask Jean that won’t seem too prying? What could-

“...you’re not even listening to me are you?”

Marco snaps back out of himself to Jean’s pout.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I...just spaced for a second, what did you say?”

“I said ‘so you’re gay right?’” Jean’s ice crunches under his relentless straw assault. “Or do we talk about everyone else’s relationships except yours because of the other day?”

He chokes out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and staring into the table.

“Ha, uh, yeah, that was...rough day.” Marco clears his throat and shifts a little. “I’m...bi, I guess? I’ve never really tried to put a name on it.”

“Sure.”

“No really!” He raises his head; Jean is leaning into his hand now, his eyes completely focused on Marco. It makes him feel like he’s the only person left in the restaurant. His heart starts to pound. “Ymir already knew she liked girls when she was nine and I asked her to marry me.”

“Oh my god, you and her really do-”

“No, Christ! I was six! I didn’t know cousins couldn’t get married! She was my favorite person in the world, I thought getting married meant we’d live in a castle and have like a dozen horses and we’d each get our own Nintendo!”

Jean considers for a second, expression slowly shifting from freaked out to neutral.

“If it doesn’t mean that, I don’t know why people even bother.”

Marco smiles falteringly and continues, “Anyway, she told me that we couldn’t get married because we were related, but also because she liked girls. And when I asked her why, she just said ‘because. You’ll understand when you’re older. You just know.’ But I never really just knew. I liked some girls, I liked some boys. I dated both. For most of college I had a girlfriend.” He shrugs. “Since then I’ve been more attracted to guys, but mostly I just like people.”

Marco studies Jean’s face for a reaction, but it remains unreadable until he finally nods.

“Okay.”

“...but,” Marco treads carefully, “You’re not going to answer the same question from me, are you.”

Obviously he likes Mikasa, Marco knows that, but he can’t help it. He needs to hear it. He needs to know he has no chance. Jean studies the shattered contents of his glass. Marco holds his breath.

“Does it matter?” He says finally, putting his glass down. “I’m not really dating material.”

Marco exhales in slow disappointment, but forces a gentle smile onto his face.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah? The other night you told me I was awful and that I suck.”

“I was drugged!” Marco sputters.

Jean rolls his eyes.

“You meant it. And you’re not really wrong, are you?” Jean reaches to his side and pulls up his coat, tugging it on. He’s leaving. Marco feels sick. It’s over. It never even started. But then the other man looks up at him as he straightens his collar. “I don’t think you’re a total sweetheart either, though, even if everyone else does.” Marco is still trying to figure out how to react to this when Jean adds, “I’m tired of this place, you wanna get out of here?”

He’s caught off guard by that one.

“Huh?”

“I’m bored of waiting for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dork. Let’s go.”

“Yes, no, wait, but...me...go with you?”

“Yeah,” Jean gives him a look like he’s talking to a very slow rock. “That’s why I said ‘you,’ meaning ‘Marco,’ instead of like, ‘that woman across the restaurant.’”

“Yeah!” Marco tries to stand up quickly and bangs his knee on the underside of the table, wincing. “I’ll just tell Connie and Sasha we’re going and settle up the bill.”

“I’ll wait for you at the front.”

Marco nods and tries to flag down a waitress, realizing a moment later that Jean hasn’t offered any money.

“Hey what about your part?” He calls down the aisle.

Jean turns, hands already in his pockets, face the picture of arrogance.

“It’s your turn to buy me dinner, isn’t it?”

And then he turns and walks away. Like an asshole.

This should not give Marco a hard-on. It really shouldn’t. And yet. Fuck.

-

Jean doesn’t seem to have any real destination in mind. Downtown is mostly the domain of restaurants, bars, and stores that cater to the book or fashion needs of the local university, but it’s a pleasant place to meander. Generally. It’s a clear night, though, so it’s extra freezing, and after they’ve been wandering about ten minutes, Marco discovers a new admiration for Jean’s silly hat. His ears are so cold they hurt. Jean seems quite comfortable, warmly ensconced in his earflaps, and when he looks over at Marco holding his gloved hands over his ears, he sighs.

“You wanna go inside somewhere for a bit?”

“N-no!” Marco snuffles his red nose and tucks it into his scarf. “I’m okay!”

“Wow, your super macho ‘I’m not cold’ act has totally fooled me. Come on.”

Marco tries not to act surprised when Jean grabs his arm and steers him into the next coffee shop they pass. He also tries not to visibly melt in relief as the heat washes over him while they walk up to the counter. Jean studies the menu intently until Marco cheekily says, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

Jean wrinkles his nose.

“I don’t.”

“And yet you keep going to coffee shops.” Jean narrows his eyes at him. “So what do you drink?” The other man shrugs. “...and why are you so embarrassed about it?”

Jean sputters.

“I’m not embarrassed!”

“No? Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Why does everyone want to know all my business all the time?”

“Why do you keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Christ,” Jean turns away, “Would you just order already?”

“You just did it again.” Marco tries to school his smile as he orders a Mexican hot chocolate and pays.

“I’ll have the same,” says Jean after him, then glances at Marco. “Checkmate, asshole.”

Marco laughs and goes to wait at the end of the counter as Jean goes in search of a place to sit. When their drinks are up, he looks around the unsurprisingly crowded room to find Jean at a small table at the back. He carries them over and sits down across from Jean, their knees brushing together in the cramped space. Jean’s eyes flick up at him, but he doesn’t move away. Marco can feel himself swooning a little.

“What makes this ‘Mexican?’” Jean asks, taking a sip, then coughing. “Fuck!” He has a spot of whipped cream on his nose and Marco can’t help but think it’s adorable in spite of his fairly appalled expression. “It’s spicy!”

Marco laughs softly, “You didn’t know?”

“No! I thought maybe it was extra chocolatey or something!” Jean is regarding his mug like it’s insulted his entire family tree. “What the hell, chocolate isn’t supposed to make your tongue hurt!”

“You don’t like spicy things, huh.” Marco doesn’t take his eyes off Jean’s nose as he drinks from his own cup.

“I don’t like painful foods,” Jean grumps, “Apparently that’s all you eat, though.”

“And you’re basing this on, what, the two times we’ve been alone together?”

“We were alone at the hospital.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“The two times we were alone with food, sorry.”

“Yes.”

“You jump to conclusions like it’s your hobby,” Marco doesn’t actually realize he’s reaching across the table to rub the whipped cream off Jean’s nose, pulling his hand back, and licking the sweetness off his finger until the action has come to a full and complete stop. Then there’s a pause as his hand hangs just below his mouth, Jean’s face registering complete shock before it quickly blooms red. He ducks away, hunching into his coat. Marco looks down at his hand, a few more seconds pass before his humility kicks back in and he blushes furiously. “Oh my god, sorry, I didn’t think-”

Jean’s expression is nothing short of scandalized. He pushes his chair back from the table loudly, but keeps his hands clenched on the sides, his body still deciding between fight or flight. Marco decides to make the choice for him, standing up quickly and muttering, “I’m going to go drown myself in the bathroom,” when Jean drops his head and says “Just sit the hell back down, god.”

Marco eyes him warily, then does as ordered. Slowly and deliberately, as if Jean were a small woodland creature he might spook. A small assholeish woodland creature.

“...sorry,” he tries again, and Jean waves a hand at him.

“Just stop, okay? Calm down. I’m not going to freak out.” He considers. “This time.”

“...why is this time different?” Marco asks, his whole body tight.

“Because,” Jean exhales a long breath, looking beyond Marco, “I was having a good night and I thought maybe for once I’d pretend to act like a normal person who isn’t awful and doesn’t suck.”

Marco smiles weakly.

“Am I ever going to live that down?”

“I dunno, I feel like that’s less embarrassing than licking random people’s noses.”

“Hold on, I did not lick your nose, I-”

“It was close. It was an indirect lick.”

“And you’re not a random person, we’re fr-” he cuts himself off and picks up his mug quickly, draining nearly half of it. It burns all the way down his throat.

“Friends?” Jean offers. “Is that what you were going to say?” Hiding behind the cup, Marco nods. “But you’re afraid I’ll object to that or something.”

He lowers his drink to peer over the mug’s edge.

“Forgive me if I’m really overstepping this time, but you don’t really have any friends, do you? ...Not here, at least.”

Jean sighs, propping his elbow on the table and leaning into his hand.

“I know that’s hard for you to deal with, but I’m pretty used to it by now.”

“...I’d like to be friends.” Marco says into what’s left of his drink. “If you want that.”

“Are you talking to me or your hot chocolate? Cuz you two already seem pretty close.” Marco gives Jean a look, and to his surprise, Jean gives one of his wry smiles back. “I thought it was pretty clear we were already friends. Inasmuch as you seem to think I’m capable of befriending anyone.”

“R-really?” Marco sounds like an idiot, but he can’t help himself. “It’s a little hard to tell with you.”

“I play my cards close, you already knew that.” Jean pokes at his barely-touched drink. “But I thought you’d realize that since I’ve actually asked you to like...be in my presence, you might realize…” He stops himself, his face going uncharacteristically soft and sad. “I’m not good at friends. Obviously. But I thought we were.”

“Well,” Marco says tentatively, “Maybe we’re just starting out? But I’d like to be your friend, Jean. You suck and I’m secretly not all sweetness and light, we might be able to make something work.”

“I’ll expect your ‘Jean’s Friend Application’ on my desk by Friday.”

“You don’t have a desk.”

“In my cubby, then.”

“Can I download the application form online or are you going to give it to me?”

“I’ll send you a link,” Jean says, finally pushing his cup toward Marco. “Look, you drink this, I’m gonna go get something else.”

“Sure,” Marco can’t help smiling warmly, “Anything for a friend.”

-

They close down the coffee shop and head for a nearby bar just to make the night last a little longer. And it’s perfect. It’s like being in the car but with less stopping and starting, and this time he can see Jean’s face clearly and he studies his expressions as he talks. And he does talk. It seems like once Jean starts talking about himself he can’t stop. He was sixth in the top ten of his high school class, it seems. He was co-captain of the varsity soccer team, and on prom court two years in a row in spite of being a dateless dickbag. He studied abroad in Germany for a semester in college. He comes from money and would like to go to money, although when Marco asks why he’s working in a bookstore (not the most lucrative of fields) Jean evades the question to talk about how he would have been promoted to a shift leader position in Trost if he hadn’t gotten wanderlust-y. He doesn’t really mention his family either, Marco notices, but he’s enthralled enough just to hear Jean talking to him at all that he doesn’t interfere.

After a long time, and beer each later, Jean leans back.

“So. Marco.”

“Hmm?” Marco has his lips around the bottle and lowers it.

“Which one of the temps did you sleep with.”

Marco winces and looks away.

“Everything you could ask me, and that’s what you want to know? Who's being nosy now.”

“I already know your favorite movie, your upsetting choices in YA lit, and that you’re creepily close to your cousin. This temp thing seems to be the one thing that you don’t want to talk about, even though everyone knows it happened. So. What’s up with that?”

“You didn’t even know them.”

“I don’t care. I know their names and that one of them apparently missed some crucial part of their American History classes in high school. And I know no one else in the store is sure despite how tight you are with all of them.” Jean leans forward a little tipsily. “Come on now. Storytime.”

Marco sighs.

“You want the whole story? All right, you asked for it.”

Both of their temps the past summer had been guys, in their mid-twenties. Both blond (one regular, one platinum), both athletic, both recent college graduates. The one named Thomas was affable and friendly, but his attention span was about as long as his hipster sideburns, and while Marco thought he seemed nice enough, he wasn’t someone he was interested in spending a lot of time with. The other one, Mylius, was much more subdued, and -maybe unfairly- seemed a lot smarter than Thomas.

The final thing they had in common, though, was that both of them flirted with Marco shamelessly. Thomas was overt and Mylius was subdued, but it was definitely flirting.

And Marco had, he admitted, against his better judgment, flirted back with both of them.

He chalked it up a little bit to his natural inclination towards friendliness, and a lot up to the fact that it had been an awfully long time since he’d had anyone pay physical attention to him, everyone at work already being in a relationship (or a codependent habitation situation or whatever). And while the rational part of him tried to reason that it really didn’t matter if people thought he was attractive, it had been a long time since Marco had a boyfriend (or a girlfriend) and he was starting to feel a little on edge about it. It was nice to feel wanted. It was nice to want, at least on a purely superficial level.

So one night when the temps had joined them at the bar, Mylius and Thomas had cornered him and asked him to choose between them. Or that was the story he stood by; honestly, he’d been pretty drunk that night, and some of the details were still fuzzy, but the evening had ended with Thomas passed out on his couch and Marco and Mylius fucking on Marco’s living room floor. It wasn’t particularly spectacular, but it was safe (since he turned sixteen, Ymir ritually gave Marco boxes of condoms on his birthday with a smack on the back and an exhortation to “keep it wrapped, baby boy!”), and it was sex, and that was enough. Of course by the next day, everyone at work knew something had happened between Marco and someone -Connie and Sasha’s serenade of the “I Just Had Sex” song was a little too well-rehearsed for it to have been totally spur of the moment. But while he and Mylius hooked up casually a few more times, it never became anything more than that, and there wasn’t any kind of scene when Mylius left the store in early September to try to get a job in some political fundraising office. And now, apparently, he and Thomas were together, which was kind of a nice bookend to the tale, for them at least. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Marco asks once he’s done, chewing on his lower lip a little.

Jean looks sleepy, eyes half-lidded and hat pulled down low on his forehead.

“So you liked the introverted weirdo one. Not the one everyone thinks you liked.”

“Yeah. I mean, Thomas was nice, but.” He shrugs. “You already know I like people with an edge.”

“To balance out your niceness, probably. But you get along with people who are already nice too.”

“I said earlier, though, I just like people.”

“Mm.”

“And you don’t.”

“Mm.”

“Getting a little tired, Jean?”

Jean straightens up and stretches. Marco is certain that if he were to lean over, he could see Jean’s shirt riding up a little, exposing his stomach, and he’s very tempted to look, but that would be approximately seven kinds of weird. If they got past the whipped cream thing, he’s not about to commit another bizarre potential faux pas.

“Yeah, we should probably call it a night.”

“Are you okay to drive?” Marco asks as their putting on their coats.

“Why? You wanna trap me in your car and make me listen to your crappy music again?”

“How dare you,” Marco’s voice is wounded as he claps a hand to his chest. “Johnny Cash is _everything_.”

Jean scoffs.

“Blah blah ‘man comes around’ blah.” He says, then looks at Marco with eyes that are almost embers in the poor light. He’s smiling a little, his voice low. “Or maybe you wanna walk me home. Is that it?”

At this point, Marco should really be getting used to Jean’s quick changes in mood, in tone, in possible meaning. But the words pool low in his stomach as heat curls up his sides and twists lazily around his heart. He forces out what he thinks is a reasonable response.

“Well, maybe, but you live a little ways from here and I’d like to keep my ears.”

“Fair enough.” Jean fiddles with one of the ties on his hat. “You could walk me to my car though.”

Is it a come on? It might be a come on. Maybe it’s just friendly. Regardless, if it’s any of these things or none of these things, if it’s a weird cosmic test of his ability to not just throw himself on Jean and suck his dick, he’ll do it.

“Yeah. I could manage that.”

The walk is both mercifully and painfully short, Marco trying his best to keep focusing on how fuzzy and hot Jean makes him feel rather than the danger of potential frostbite seizing his ears. His side is aching a little by the time they’re standing at Jean’s car.

God it feels like the end of a date.

“Do you want me to wait?” He asks, and Jean looks momentarily confused. “I mean, if you need a jump again.”

“No, I should be fine this time.” Jean unlocks the car. “Thanks, though. You’re so thoughtful. Too thoughtful. It’s obnoxious.”

“That’s me!” Marco says brightly, crossing his arms over his chest and stamping his feet to stay warm. “See you at work tomorrow?”

Jean shakes his head.

“Got a few days off. I’m going home briefly.” He looks very distant that statement, brow furrowing a bit.

“Well,” Marco says, trying to hide his disappointment. “Drive safely, okay?”

“Yeah. Try not to drop any more cds on yourself while I’m gone.”

“If you’re gone and any cds fall, I won’t have anyone to gallantly push out of the way.”

“Are you saying I should stay in Trost for your safety?”

“No!” Marco says too quickly. “Just...look, go home, it’s cold out. Be safe.”

“Thanks.” Jean says, moving to get into the car.

And then he stops and does something Marco never would have expected.

He stands up on his tiptoes, leans forward, and licks Marco’s nose. Just the tip. Quickly. It’s warm and then terribly cold as winter settles back in between them. And Marco can’t breathe. It catches in his chest as Jean slides into his car, mumbles something like “Payback,” and shuts the door. Marco can barely manage to stumble out of the way so Jean can pull out.

He remembers how he felt after the trip to urgent care, how incredibly sideways the world seemed and thinks that had nothing on what he’s feeling right now. He’s actually not sure _he’ll_ be okay to drive, so he makes himself walk slowly back to his car in spite of the cold.

Once inside, he starts shivering, and it’s not entirely because of the weather.

Where on the friendship spectrum does nose licking fall? He’s sure Connie and Sasha would consider it perfectly normal behavior, and Annie would regard it as some kind of grave insult. To Marco it feels like somewhere between a handshake and a messy kiss, and that just makes everything even more complicated. Tonight has gone from Jean being disappointed in Mikasa’s lack of interest to putting his tongue directly on Marco’s face. This is too much to process.

But unable to turn on the car just yet, and still in some kind of daze, Marco pulls out his phone.

**> >From: Me  
Tonight was fun. We should hang out again really soon.**

He barely waits a minute before his phone signals a message.

**> >From: Jean  
OK.**

It’s not much, but he can’t help smiling.

And then his fingers start typing again.

**> >From: Me  
I am gonna wreck you so bad and**

Marco catches himself.

“Wait,” he says, chastizing himself, “I can’t write that.”

He deletes it, and types the next thing he can think of.

**> >From: Me  
So many stars out tonight!**

He looks at the message after it’s sent and rolls his eyes at himself. Good complete non-sequitur there. Way to not make a bit of goddamn sense.

Still. It’s been a good night. A great night. And Marco feels giddy. _There really are a lot of stars out,_ he thinks, as he finally makes his drive home. That is one benefit of the cold clearness. The sky is beautiful.

When he gets home, he grabs his phone off the seat and sees he got another message while he was driving.

**> >From: Jean  
I fucking love stars.**

And Marco can’t help it, can’t help staring into his phone fondly, something he seems to do every time he gets a text from Jean.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers, then kisses Jean’s name on his phone.

And maybe it’s silly, but this is how things are going to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got permission from the amazing and talented [Shingekinokitty](http://shingekinokitty.tumblr.com) to reference [this picture](http://shingekinokitty.tumblr.com/post/69056536297/m-had-a-great-time-seeing-you-tonight-j-yeah), which is one of my favorite pieces of fanart of all time. 
> 
> Nose-licking: it's the new hotness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is starting to feel like maybe he has things in control. Until the moment he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tides come in and bring with them mysteries from the sea, and also fic. More or less. I know I say this every time, but I continue to be *astounded* by the response my fic has gotten, and I love all the comments (I'm slow, but I get there eventually, I promise!) and I'm touched by everyone who wanders over to my tumblr and follows me. I would hug each of you in the face personally if I could.
> 
> Brace yourself, though. I don't know how this one is gonna land. 
> 
> So [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) lives in a cave right now, but I still love her, Heichousquad [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com) are my support staff, and [Queen Beyond the Wall Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) hasn't read this chapter yet, so hopefully it will be a nice (or TERRIBLE) surprise for her.

**> >From: Connie  
hey dude sorry we bailed on u last night saw mami and charlotte at the bar and we havent seen them in forever n we lost track of time**

**> >From: Marco  
It’s no problem. Glad you got to see your friends. :)**

**> >From: Connie:  
yeah im sure it was hard being left alone with jean did u get some??**

**> >From: Marco  
Oh my god. **

**> >From: Connie  
you did tho right? come on we couldntve planned it better if we planned it. u. jean. alone. can u feel the love tonight the peace the evening brings**

**> >From: Marco  
I think you know me better than that. **

**> >From: Connie  
i dunno man u surprised us all when you got a special taste for temps. Also: the world for once in perfect harmony with all its living things**

**> >From: Marco  
We had a nice time, but I want to date Jean. I’m not trying to get a one night stand out of him. **

**> >From: Connie  
SO MANY THINGS TO TELL HER BUT HOW TO MAKE HER SEE THE TRUTH ABOUT MY PAST IMPOSSIBLE SHE’D TURN AWAY FROM ME**

**> >From: Marco  
This is starting to sound like it’s more about you and Sasha than me. **

**> >From: Connie  
HE’S HOLDING BACK HE’S HIDING BUT WHAT I CAN’T DECIDE WHY WON’T HE BE THE KING I KNOW HE IS THE KING I SEE INSIDE**

**> >From: Marco  
I’m going to work Connie. **

**> >From: Connie  
CAN**

**> >From: Connie:  
YOU**

**> >From: Connie  
FEEL**

**> >From: Marco  
I’m turning off my phone. **

**> >From: Connie  
THE LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE**

**> >From: Connie  
TONIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT**

**> >From: Connie  
THE PEACE THE EVENING BRINGS**

**> >From: Connie  
marco u still there bud?**

**> >From: Connie  
marco?**

**> >From: Connie  
im gonna finish my song anyway, youll get the messages sooner or later.**

**> >From: Connie  
wait i lost my place**

**> >From: Connie  
let me start again - from the top**

**> >From: Connie  
I CAN SEE WHAT’S HAPPENING**

-

Marco’s in a good mood. Hell, he’s in a great mood. Even the fact that he’s not going to see Jean at work for a few days can’t dim the rush of excitement every time he remembers the flick of of soft beer-breath and warmth against his face. It’s almost pathetic how many times he replays that moment on the drive to work alone, and even more lame when he realizes he’s got a raging hard-on because of it. Who knew nose-licking was a thing. _Ugh, embarrassing,_ he thinks with a sheepish smile, sitting in the car until he feels confident enough to enter the store and not scandalize everyone with his crotch. 

“Marco!” Bert’s voice is -even for him- uncharacteristically relieved when he finally walks through the doors. “Thank goodness!”

“What’s up?” Marco pauses at the counter to pull his gloves off, feeling glib and cheery in spite of Bert’s expression. “Did the roof cave in? Did Armin get lost in the forest of bigass boxes? Did the dumpster divers finally make off with the entire dumpster instead of just the lid?”

“No,” Bert brushes at his bangs. “Something’s going on in back, I haven’t seen Mikasa or Levin in like ten minutes, Reiner and Annie are on break, and I can’t keep answering the phone and helping customers and manning intake and the register all at once!”

“I’ll check it out.” He keeps his voice even, but now he’s concerned. Bert is one of the most anxious people he knows, but if something is bad enough to remove both Mikasa and Levi from the sales floor when they’re short workers, it must be serious. 

What he finds in back is a kind of bizarre stand-off, between Mikasa, arms folded in the doorway to the office, and Levi at the desk, the heels of his hands pressed so hard against his eyes that his retinas have to be wedged somewhere in his brain. It’s no secret that Levi and Mikasa sometimes clash in their styles of personality and authority, but usually they can maintain a reasonable working relationship. Seeing them apparently at a total impasse is definitely worrying. 

Mikasa’s tight posture softens slightly as she sees Marco.

“Finally. I’m tired of dealing with this bullshit.”

Levi tries to make some kind of pithy sound-based response, but what comes out is half-cough, half choked-back snuffle. 

“I deal with all of everyone’s bullshit every day, I am allowed to create my own bullshit at least once.”

Mikasa’s eyebrow raises slightly, but she turns to Marco instead of lashing back. 

“He’s sick. He won’t leave. He’s breaking his own rules about bringing disease into the store. Tell him to go home, maybe if there’s two of us he’ll start to act like an adult.”

“No you go home,” Levi sasses back, finally pulling away from his hands to glower sloppily at the two of them, and Marco lets himself relax a little. This is not actually a mutiny or a terrible crisis. And Levi looks so pitifully awful, it’s easy for Marco to slide into a soft smile.

“She’s right, Levi, you’re sick and you’d throw any of us out the door if we came in like this.”

“You don’t think I’d come in like this if I didn’t have a fucking good reason, do you? There’s no one to close the goddamn store if I’m not here!” Levi shoves the weekly schedule towards them; it falls off the edge of the desk. “I finally got Hanji to take one of her fucking vacation days, I’m not calling her in.”

“And I said I would stay.” Mikasa’s tone remains unimpressed.

“You opened, you know you can’t stay, you can’t do that kind of overtime!”

“I don’t really care.”

“I care, and I’m not going to let you!” Levi pauses to sneeze, then blows his nose. 

“I’ll call Erwin.” Mikasa threatens.

“Oh no, Erwin, what’s he gonna do, drive down here himself and pry me out of this chair?” 

Mikasa rolls her eyes and turns to Marco again. 

“It’s been going on like this. Can you get him out of there?”

Marco takes a step back, suddenly feeling very nervous. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Try physically removing me from this office, Bodt, and your children’s children will regret it.”

“See?” Marco tries weakly and Mikasa actually throws up both her hands in disgust.

“I can’t believe this.”

“But, um,” Marco chews his lip for a moment, “Maybe...I could close?”

Two sets of severe eyes turn to him, and he immediately wishes he’d said something else. Too late now. 

“You don’t know how,” Levi sounds...cautious now, as if maybe he’s seeing a way out of this dilemma other than defeating Mikasa in a cagematch. “But-”

“I could teach him.” Mikasa nods, finishing his sentence, then looks at Marco with what might actually be the beginnings of a smile. “It’s really not that hard. You’ve worked here long enough, I trust you.”

“More importantly,” Levi pushes himself out of the chair, swaying a little, “ _I_ trust you. You’re not going to burn down the store like Braun or Leonhardt, and you won’t soak everything in terror sweat like Fubar.” (Privately, Marco thinks that Reiner has much less chance of burning down the store than Annie, but he wisely stays quiet.) “All right, Ackerman, you win this time.” Levi shrugs his coat on, then pauses to grab a piece of paper and scribble a few numbers on it. “This is my security code for the alarm system. If Erwin gets upset about me giving it to you he can suck my dick.” Marco takes the paper as Levi brushes past him. “Just remember: don’t fuck it up.”

He’s gone with a flash of fur-lined hood, and Marco is left standing next to Mikasa. His good mood has been stopped in its tracks, the warmth in his stomach replaced with icy fanged butterflies. It takes him a moment to realize that Mikasa has put a hand on his arm.

“Marco.” she says, all business and sincerity. “Marco, you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

Marco nods, swallowing past the knot in his throat and follows her into the office. She takes him through the closing procedures, writing down every step in her neat, perfect handwriting. She shows him how to open the fussy safe, and makes him do it three times on his own before she’s satisfied. At every point she is reassuring, calming, and confident. _No wonder Jean still likes her,_ he sighs internally as she’s organizing all the paperwork for him. Marco’s generally confident about his place in the world (he should be, now that he’s wandering ever closer to 30), but he’s never thought of himself as a leader, and he doubts anyone else has either. 

Eren’s sudden appearance at the office door snaps him out of his reverie. 

“Hey, guys,” he starts pulling off his coat, “Where’s Levi?”

“He went home sick,” Mikasa adjusts her scarf. 

“Levi? Sick? How?” Eren is aghast. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“He has a cold, not the plague,” Mikasa raises an eyebrow. “It’s not something for you to worry about.”

“Who’s gonna close, though?”

“Marco is.” Mikasa gestures to him. “I just taught him everything.”

There’s an instant where Marco thinks Eren is going to devolve into one of his signature fits of impassioned yelling. They’ve worked at the store the same amount of time, and everyone knows Eren follows Levi around as though he’s god’s gift to management. Why didn’t Levi wait for Eren to arrive? Why didn’t he put him in charge? Eren is Marco’s friend, but he has his own ideas about how to run a store, and Marco suddenly being put in a position over power over him might not sit right. Things about today could somehow get even more sucky. 

Eren breaks into a grin, though.

“Really? That’s so cool!” 

Marco blinks at him. 

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be awesome. I’m totally behind you.” His green eyes are bright and Marco briefly has the urge to hug him. “Hey, is Reiner around? I need to talk to him.”

“He should be getting back from break now.”

“Cool. I’m gonna go tell him about Boss Marco, see you later.”

With a wave, he heads for the break room, and Mikasa turns to Marco with a look of genuine satisfaction. 

“See? You’ll be great.” She stands. “Come on, time to get to work.”

-

Reiner, Annie, and Bertholdt have similar reactions to Eren (Annie’s is much more reserved, of course), which makes Marco love his friends even more, but doesn’t do as much for his confidence as he’d like. He feels too queasy over lunch to choke down more than a few tortilla chips and hummus, and the moment Mikasa leaves he feels a stress headache settle down just behind his left eye. The cut on his cheek is half-healed, but now it itches constantly and his side feels tight. 

But the day passes with few incidents. Aside from the usual obnoxious commentary from unhappy sellers (“I feel like I’m getting ripped off,” says one young guy, even as Marco thinks he was generous for a collection of books that were at least 40 years old and foxed with mold), and Annie having to shoo out Homeless Larry David for sleeping in the back and smelling funny, everything is as it should be. Eren stays by his side as he goes through all of Mikasa’s closing instructions, and he’s glad for the company. When he finally locks the front door at 8:30, he lets out a long sigh and rests his head against the glass.

“We made it.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Eren zips up his coat. “I dunno why you’re being so hard on yourself, you’re one of the most reliable people in the store. I know Levi thinks highly of you.”

Marco can feel himself blushing. Eren steps off the curb and starts to walk toward their cars; he follows. 

“He does?”

“Of course, can’t you tell?” Eren turns around, walking backwards so he can see Marco. “He left you in charge of the store, for one, but Levi’s not actually that hard to read once you get to know him.” Marco can feel himself smiling a little knowingly, and now it’s Eren’s turn to blush. “Dude, I know what you’re thinking and you’re right, I just…” the shorter man pauses to huff out a breath. “It’s not like you can control who you fall for.” His eyes slide to Marco. “You should know that, after all.”

It occurs to Marco then that he hasn’t thought about Jean all day, not since the moment he was suddenly put in charge. He’s not sure how to feel about that other than startled, and it takes him so long to respond that Eren actually stops walking and puts a hand on his arm.

“Hey, you know I didn’t...I mean, I don’t care if you like him, if it makes you happy…”

“No, it’s not that.” Marco smiles kindly and pats Eren’s hand. “I just realized I hadn’t thought about him today, which is strange.”

“Means you had your head in the game.” Eren nods, looking a bit relieved. “But yeah, just...if you want him, go for it.”

“Interesting advice coming from you.”

Eren snorts. “Levi’s seeing someone already, I’m almost positive. I don’t think it’s Hanji, but I’m pretty sure he’s involved. Besides he’s my boss, that's complicated. Jean’s your coworker.”

“He’s my coworker with personality issues who’s out of town for a few days, you might have noticed.”

“OH! Yeah, that reminds me! I meant to tell you when I got to work, but then Mikasa was right there.” Eren has reached his car and leans against it, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Mikasa’s birthday is Monday, but Armin and me were gonna throw her a party over the weekend. She opens on Saturday so we were gonna make dinner while she’s away and have people over and then go to Ymir’s DJ night.”

“Ymir is DJing this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Eren smirks, “Why am I more up on her schedule than you? Don’t you two have like a weird freckledy hivemind?”

“I don’t even want to think about what that would involve,” Marco rolls his eyes. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Right, yeah, so I was wondering if you would be willing to come over and help us?” He hedges a little. “It’s okay if you can’t, normally I wouldn’t even ask except that we need to cook and clean and Armin asked Annie to come. And I dunno if something’s going on, but…” He looks across the darkened parking lot, a strange expression crossing his face. “Annie’s been acting kind of weird around me lately. And when she and Armin are together, then they both act weird.”

He feels a pang of regret for Eren. From what Eren’s said and Marco has seen, it’s fairly safe to assume Armin and Annie are involved (or in the process of getting there). Marco knows what it’s like when you’re suddenly a third wheel - he often felt that way when Ymir and Christa first started dating- but Eren doesn’t even seem to realize that he is one, and that might actually be worse. 

“Yeah, I can help.”

“You mean it?” Eren brightens. “I know I’m asking you to be some sort of weird cleaning wingman, but I’d super appreciate it. Making Mikasa’s birthday awesome means a lot to me and it’s gonna make me nervous if I’m outnumbered by tiny blondes all day.”

“Sure, I owe Mikasa for today anyway,” Marco says, and it’s true. She may not think so, but Marco feels heavily indebted to her for how she helped him. And he can’t help but want to protect Eren from whatever awkward situation might be building on the horizon between him and his closest friend. 

“Cool, thank you so much.” Eren beams up at him. “I’ll text you about time a little later, I gotta talk to Armin. I told everyone who was at work today about it, and I’ll talk to Connie and Sasha tomorrow.”

“What about Jean?” It’s out before he can stop it. 

“...what about Jean.” 

“Uh,” Marco pushes away from Eren’s car and kicks at a chunk of ice. “Is he invited too?” Eren is silent. “I mean, he also works here, and he seems to get along okay with Armin-”

“It’s not Armin’s birthday, it’s Mikasa’s.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Marco raises his hands in defeat. “It’s your call.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Eren sniffs after a moment, “You can tell him, I don’t care. Maybe he won’t even be back in time or he won’t want to come. If he does, though, I’m holding you responsible for anything and everything he does.”

“I think I can handle him.” Silently to himself: _I think I want to handle him._

“Good,” Eren nods, then laughs softly. “Oh my god, how long have we been out here, it’s too damn cold. I’m going home, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Marco starts for his own car. “See you tomorrow, Eren, drive safe.”

“You did good today, Squad Leader Bodt!” He hears Eren call just as he settling into the car and turning the key. 

He guesses he did okay. He’s happy the day is over, though, and privately pleased with himself that he actually was able to turn off the background Jean-noise in his mind for a bit. He’s alone now, though, and he’s earned some time alone with his thoughts, and his memories. 

Just a quick bit of tongue, hardly enough to build a fantasy off of. 

Marco feels like he’s earned the right to try anyway. 

-

He’s washing his hands and wiping the come off his stomach, absently wondering what to make for dinner when he hears his phone go off. Marco grabs a towel, hikes his boxers and jeans back up, and wanders out to the table where’s he’s left it. 

**> >New Messages: Connie, Jean**

He fumbles with the keypad lock, hurriedly going to his inbox. He has no less than 27 messages from Connie, but those can wait. 

**> >From: Jean  
i dont know why i even fucking bother coming home**

Well. He’d been hoping for something a little less...bitter? Maybe that was too idealistic, considering Jean’s nature. But Jean texted him, that’s enough cause for minor celebration. 

**> >From: Me  
Hey! I was just thinking about you!**

_I was just masturbating about you._

**> >From: Me  
What’s up?**

He sets the phone down and goes to pull a shirt back on, the returns to it. 

**> >From: Jean  
i shouldve just stayed at work and not wasted my damn vacation hours. better to be around people who actively dislike me instead of pretending they dont**

Marco frowns at the phone as he goes into the kitchen, pulling a package of microwave macaroni out of a cabinet. 

**> >From: Me  
Come on now, Connie and Sasha inducted you into their quote club. Also, you promised to link me to your friend application.**

**> >From: Jean  
i dont have your email and ive been too busy being the disappointing child**

It hurts to read that. It’s a stark contrast to the previous night when Jean had been downright arrogant, taking such pleasure in telling Marco about his illustrious past and accomplishments. 

**> >From: Me  
Are you ok?**

He fills the plastic tub of noodles to the designated line, dumps in the seasoning packet. 

**> >From: Jean  
im fine why do you care?**

He enters four and a half minutes into the timer. He tries not to let his heart sink too deeply into his stomach.

**> >From: Me  
We’re friends. **

**> >From: Jean  
tell that to jac. i said i made a friend at work and she fucking laughed at me.**

**> >From: Me  
Jac?**

**> >From: Jean  
jacqueline my sister. are you an only child?**

Two minutes to go. The air starts to smell like deliciously plasticky. 

**> >From: Me  
Yeah. Although Ymir was always around, she’s been kind of like a sister.**

**> >From: Jean  
not the same, your lucky. id bring jac into the store and try to sell her but no one would want to pay for her wed just have to donate or recycle her or break her out back like the bad electronics. wait can we do that.**

The microwave beeps, and Marco sets down the phone to remove his noodles and add the rest of the nuclear cheese waste and bacon bits to complete the dish. He grabs a fork from a drawer and carries his food and the phone to the living room, settling down on the couch and trying to figure out what to say. 

**> >From: Me  
:(**

The first bite burns his tongue, so Marco quickly sets the macaroni back on the table, scrunching up his nose in discomfort. 

**> >From: Jean  
shed say the same thing about me dont think for a moment she wouldnt. i know you think people are dandy but some people really do just suck and me and my sister both suck a lot**

There’s a bad blowjob joke waiting in the wings here. Marco chooses not to acknowledge it. 

**> >From: Me  
I’m sorry.**

**> >From: Jean  
its not your fault honeybunch what have you ever done wrong in your life**

Marco chokes. Just a little.

**> >From: Me  
I thought you said I wasn’t that sweet?**

**> >From: Jean  
fine unhoneybunch whatever i bet your the apple of your parents eyes**

**> >From: Jean  
i bet your everything anyone could ever want in a son or a bf or whatever**

He’s not sure what “bf” means in this context, if it’s “boyfriend” or “best friend,” but the flippancy of the sentiment makes him a little irritated, so he responds with the first thing that comes to mind. 

**> >From: Me  
My mom is dead. **

He sets down the phone. There’s really no sense in getting angry, especially not when he’d been so happy to talk to Jean. He glumly eats several forkfuls of his rapidly congealing dinner, wondering if Jean is going to bother to answer.

What seems like a long time later (but is really only about three minutes), he does.

**> >From: Jean  
oh**

**> >From: Jean  
sorry**

Marco sighs. 

**> >From: Me  
It’s fine. **

**> >From: Jean  
no its not i fucking suck you said i suck and your right. your always right.**

**> >From: Me  
Are you trying to pick a fight? I don’t understand what’s going on, Jean. **

There’s another lull in texts, this one lasting at least five minutes, and Marco debates about just putting on some mindless TV show and maybe picking at one of his old gameboy advance games, because seriously, what the hell, Jean. "What are you like," he mumbles to himself.

**> >From: Jean  
can i call you?**

That’s...not what he expected at all. But that’s Jean, isn’t it. Zagging when he’s supposed to zig. 

**> >From: Me  
Sure, if you want. **

There’s less than ten seconds in between him hitting “send” and the phone ringing. 

“Hey,” he says, aware he sounds weirdly breathless. 

“Hey,” Jean says back, almost sheepish. 

“....are you okay?” Marco ventures again, not sure where else to start. 

“I’m sorry. About your mom. About...you being perfect.”

“...you’re sorry that I’m perfect.” He sighs. “Jean…”

“No, I mean…” Jean makes a strange noise, possibly a snuffle tinged with phone-static. “I’m a little drunk.”

Marco blinks. Suddenly things make a bit more sense. 

“A little?”

“Okay maybe a lot. I extra suck when I’m drunk, you already know that.”

“Why are you drunk?”

“Cuz it’s my mom’s birthday party and my house is full of people who think my sister should win an award for best person ever and that I’m a novel that got good initial reviews but did bad at the box office.” Pause. “I mean…not the box office. The book box office. The thing where they put popular books.”

“The bestseller lists?” Marco can’t help smiling. 

“Yeah, those.” Sounds of movement, shifting. “I got tired of playing nice so I took a bottle of…I don’t even know what this is, it tastes like licking a velvet couch, but I’m drinking it because my dad paid for it and I don’t even care.”

His dad? Jean had pointedly not mentioned any father the other night. 

“Your dad?”

“He’s not really my dad,” Jean sputters quickly, “He’s the guy who married my mom when I was seven and made my sister happen. He like...officially adopted me or whatever, but he’s not my dad.”

Marco gets the sense it would be better not to ask, not right now and maybe not ever, so he waits for Jean to fill in the silence. 

“I don’t even like red wine, and I’m definitely not going to like it later when it makes a reappearance.”

“Jean,” Marco knows he sounds a little nagging, “Don’t do that.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“I was the boss of the store today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So you should listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Why should you listen to me?”

“No, why were you the boss of the store? Is Mikasa okay? What happened to Levi and Hanji?”

Marco rolls his eyes. Shouldn’t have mentioned Mikasa, but now there’s no way but forward. 

“Levi got sick, Hanji was off, and Mikasa opened, so she couldn’t stay. She taught me how to close.”

“Tell me more.”

“...what’s there to tell? I closed the store, Eren hung around while I did it, then I came home.”

“Tell me more,” Jean repeats petulantly, “Tell me everything that happened today. I don’t even care how boring it is. Tell me what shit we got in and if customers were sucky and who drank what coffee.”

“Are you sure?”

There’s a distinct sound of swallowing, a muffled belch, and then Jean’s voice sounds even closer, like his mouth is right against the phone. 

“Yes.”

Marco’s heart skips a little. 

“All right,” he says, and starts talking.

The macaroni goes cold, forming a slimy lump reminiscent of a dead jellyfish. The night somehow grows darker, and when Marco peers between the blinds he can see snow drifting past the small globe of light from the nearest streetlamp. But he keeps talking, because every time he tries to stop, Jean prompts him again. When he finishes relating every minute detail of his day (leaving out certain incriminating events, of course), he talks about his dad, who is a tailor and runs his own fine menswear store; about his mom, who died of cancer when he was very young, but he remembers that she had freckles too, and a laugh like singing; about his father’s sister Ilse, Ymir’s mother, who was always traveling to exciting and exotic places while working for organizations like Amnesty International and the Peace Corps but was never home enough to devote time to her daughter when she was growing up. He tells Jean that Ymir is partially responsible for some of the worst things he’s ever done and largely responsible some of the best things about him, and then, finally, as it grows late and his mouth is dry and his throat is sore, he says softly that he hopes Jean doesn’t really hate his sister so much. 

It takes so long for Jean to respond that Marco wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

“...........she makes a killer grilled cheese sandwich,” Jean offers finally, voice thick. “I’ll give her that much.”

Marco laughs gently. 

“I thought maybe you fell asleep, I talked forever.”

“I liked it,” Jean’s voice is breathy in his ear. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Marco feels hot all over.

If they were in the same room, this would be when Marco would try his luck and lean towards Jean. Maybe he’d lick his nose. Maybe they’d lick each other’s noses. Maybe mouths and tongues would move lower and collide. Maybe it would be the perfect moment. 

Instead, they’re separated by space and time, and Jean is suddenly murnuring to someone who isn’t Marco.

“What are you doing here?” 

Marco can’t hear the response, but Jean’s voice is unmistakably fond. 

“Jean?”

“Sorry, Marco, one of my girls came looking for me.” His voice is heavy and sleepy, warm. “How did you even get in here, you know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“...one of your girls?” 

“Yeah, nice to know someone loves me and wants to be around me.” _I love you and want to be around you,_ Marco doesn’t say, feeling as though he’s suddenly been drenched in water and hurled into the icy night. There's a soft noise like a kiss, and then: “I'm gonna take us to bed. Thanks again, though. I’ll talk to you later. Night.”

He hangs up before Marco even finishes “good night” and the line goes dead. 

Jean had said he didn’t have anyone waiting in Trost. He said that. Marco had to have heard wrong, or interpreted wrong. Jean couldn’t have hung up on him to go sleep with some random woman. “One of my girls,” those were his words. How many did he have? How many more did he lie about?

Marco pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, forcing himself to take some slow breaths and trying to calm his whirling thoughts. 

He’s tired. Jean was drunk. There has to be some kind of misunderstanding here. They’ll clear it up tomorrow. 

And even if there isn’t? _Jean doesn’t owe me anything,_ he scowls at himself in the mirror as he goes to brush his teeth. _It’s not like we’re dating. It’s not like he even wants to date me. He’s lonely enough to call me late at night but obviously not lonely enough to not practically hang up on me._

It’s so weird, though. Jean sounded like he felt Marco was the only person in the world worth talking to, and then...

Today has been up and down and up and down and Marco is sick of it. He leaves his clothes on the floor after putting on his pajamas and pulls the covers up high over his head. Another day, another rollercoaster from being a real person to being a stupid kid all over again. At least he’s saved the embarrassment of crying himself to sleep. 

Because as poetic an image as that makes, the truth is you have to stop crying first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shifty eyes* 
> 
> But have you had those "Kraft Homestyle" microwave macaroni things? They're great.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is, if not stranger than fiction, at least heavily influenced by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what time it is? Time for me to tell everyone once again how much it means to me that people have been so interested in and excited about my story. It will never stop being amazing to me. Thank you all so much! (I hope this chapter doesn't backfire on me.)
> 
> As always, props go to the usual suspects: [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who just finished a [one shot for MARVEL](http://comicsalliance.tumblr.com/post/88011234017/jen-van-meter-joanna-estep-blast-fantastic), Heichousquad [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com) and [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com), who teach me about this youthful world, and the true claimaint to the Iron Fic, [Monkeysocks,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) who is the most badass (and points out my dumb typos).

**> >From: Jean  
i am so sick right now i am going to die in the bathroom like elvis**

**> >Delete? One conversation will be deleted. **

**> >Deleted.**

-

People talk to him and he responds.

“Thanks for doing all the hard stuff yesterday,” Hanji says brightly when Marco comes into work. “That includes sending Levi home. He’s the worst when he’s sick. Worse than usual.”

“It was no trouble, Hanji, I was glad to help.”

He can smile and make his words sound normal, not sick and sad like they feel inside.

“Eren said you’re gonna help us out with Mikasa's party,” Armin carries a stack of shiny new books past him. “Are you sure? You really don’t need to, especially not on your day off.”

“I owe Mikasa big time for yesterday,” he flips through a discarded PEOPLE magazine that’s been left at the register. “It’s fine.”

“I was wondering if you have a book?” A woman asks. “I saw it here about a week ago, I don’t remember the title or the author, but it was blue? It might have had ‘ghost’ in the title.’”

“Of course,” Marco types “blue ghost books” into google search, then spends another five minutes on Amazon before the woman finally remembers it was a red book and not actually about ghosts at all.

“Meanwhile,” Annie looks at him intently while she’s on hold with another store, “I’ve quit bookselling to become a spokeswoman for the ‘ab roller.’”

“I’m sure you’re going to be great,” Marco stares out the window, watching the light snow decorate the cars in the parking lot.

“All right,” Reiner is the one who finally gets through to him on his break, and does it by physically removing the book from his hands and tossing it onto the couch next to him. “What’s the damage?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He blinks up at the larger man.

“Annie says different.”

Marco shrugs.

“She and Armin are whispering about you behind the shipping desk.”

Marco shrugs again.

“I’m perfectly capable of standing here until you cave.”

Marco reaches for his book. It’s called “Tubes” and purports to be “a physical history of the internet.” So far it’s mostly been about squirrels and power lines.

“Connie told me you and Jean are fucking.”

“Well Connie’s wrong, okay!” Marco’s response is so sudden and so harsh that he surprises himself, although Reiner registers little change in expression aside from a raised eyebrow.

“Well now I've got your attention. So this is about him. What’s going on?”

Marco sighs raggedly and folds his arms across his chest, sinking into the back of the couch.

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. Who cares.”

“It doesn’t seem like it’s nothing.” Reiner sits down next to him; it’s barely a two and a half ass couch, and Reiner takes up more space than necessary, their sides firmly pressing against each other. “So why don’t you just tell Auntie Reiner all about it and get it out?”

The first time Marco met Reiner on a visit to Ymir’s college, he was unimpressed. Reiner was as crass as his cousin and almost twice as loud. He took no prisoners on the rugby field and had some kind of facial laceration or bruise every time Marco saw him. He had so much energy it exhausted others. He would slap Bertholdt’s butt in public and was almost entirely at fault for the time Ymir broke her wrist in two places. The latter event had made Marco so angry that he had told Ymir over the phone he was going to drive down and personally extract the price of her medical bill in teeth; she’d laughed and said, “chill, babes, it’s cool. I’m gonna have a sweet scar and Reiner cried the whole way to the hospital.” Reiner endeared himself to Marco after that, once Marco realized that his largesse was not an act or a cry for attention, but simply who he was: a big man with a heart even bigger, someone whose genuine love for people put Marco’s to shame.

He studies Reiner now, thinking about what he knows about his friend, and then he can’t help but talk. And Reiner listens, their closeness gradually becoming less awkward and more comforting, until Marco is actually physically leaning against him, Reiner’s arm around his shoulders.

“What are you more upset about,” he asks at last when Marco is finished, “The fact that you think he slept with some chick or the fact that he’s so incredibly sad?”

Marco’s brow furrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Because I can pretty much guarantee,” Reiner chuckles softly, “It wasn’t what it sounded like. No one that lonely can be dating anyone. Or having any really successful hook-ups.”

Marco turns to look at him.

“People have drunken sad encounters all the time. Even I have.”

“Yeah, but do you often have drunken sad encounters in your parents’ house when you just spent two hours begging someone to talk to you?”

“...you make an interesting point.”

“Look, stop thinking of it as some...terrible sign. There’s obviously something wrong with this kid,” Reiner holds up his hand when Marco starts to object, “And I don’t mean that in a demeaning way, I mean that in a ‘something has happened to this poor child and he has opted not to cope with it’ way. It could a family thing, an old relationship, who knows, but whatever it is, it’s fucked him up enough that he’s being lousy to himself and to everyone around him by default. Except you. He likes you. He trusts you, even if neither of you realizes it yet.”

“...I never thought of that.” Marco hangs his head a little. “I was thinking about my own feelings.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t think about your own feelings, cuz obviously you have a lot of them, especially for him. I’m just saying that if you slide into a funk because you think he wasn’t honest with you when he clearly can’t even be honest with himself yet, you’re gonna have a harder uphill battle than you think.”

For the first time all day, Marco can feel himself start to smile honestly.

“...thank you, Reiner.”

“You’re welcome. Auntie Reiner is always happy to help. Even if you don’t know you need his help.”

“When you call yourself ‘Auntie,’ though, it’s a little creepy.”

“Would you prefer ‘Special Fairy Princess Reiner?’” A large hand starts to creep down Marco’s thigh, squeezing it suggestively. “I can provide other useful services. I’ve heard my penis is downright magical.”

“Oh my god,” Marco squirms off the couch, “Don’t even say that, I’ll tell Bert.”

“Who do you think told me that in the first place?”

“My break is over I have to go back to work now!” Marco scurries out of the breakroom, Reiner’s thick laughter following him out.

-

**> >From: Jean  
book titles that currently describe me: as i lay dying. then we came to the end. death with interruptions. **

-

**> >From: Ymir  
yo dawg i herd u like butts & were bein a butt so i put a butt in ur butt so u can butt while u butt**

**> >From: Ymir  
butt seriously haa u wanna get dinner somewhere 2nite**

**> >From: Ymir  
or u can ignore me thats cool too**

**> >From: Ymir  
** **asshole**

-

 **> >From: Jean  
** **my mom is worried i broke some sort of seventh seal since im still sick. i regret everything ive ever done. if i die here will you punch jaeger in the face for me?**

-

**> >From: Ymir  
it would have been a nice dinner 2 u would have enjoyed it **

**-**

**> >From: Jean  
** **im going to die here im sorry i never sent you the friend application**

 ****> >From: Jean  
**** **im sorry about a lot of things**

 ****> >From: Jean  
**** **man my mouth tastes like tears and barf this is the worst**

_**-** _

****> >From: Ymir  
**** **ill disown u if u dont start paying attenion 2 me dont think i wont**

_**-** _

****> >From: Jean  
**** **marco?**

  
-

 ** **> >From: Ymir  
**** **im moving on now i dont need u anymore thanx 4 the memories jerkwad**

  
-

 ****> >From: Jean  
**** **marco are you mad at me? why wont you answer?**

 ****> >From: Jean  
**** **ok then**

_**-** _

**> >From: Ymir  
see u in hell bitchass**

_**-** _

“I’m sorry about calling you ‘bitchass,’” Ymir says around a microwaved eggroll, “Although your ass is being pretty bitchy tonight.”

“It’s like one step forward, eighty-six steps back.” Marco sighs, stirring his chopsticks around the leftover orange sauce and rice in his bowl. “I texted him back when I got off work, but he hasn’t answered.” He sinks against the couch cushions. “I said I wasn’t mad.”

“You were something, though. Had to be if Annie was texting me about it.” Ymir grabs the bowl from his hands without asking, finishing up his leftovers. “Even though I guarantee Reiner is right. No way that little shit is banging anyone who isn’t you. I bet you he has a dog or something, people talk like that to dogs all the time.”

“I don’t really see Jean as the dog-type.”

“I didn’t see you as the being a snotty little fuck type, but sometimes people get the wrong ideas.”

Marco rolls his eyes and reaches out to poke Ymir in the cheek with his foot; she bats it away as she chews loudly.

“Also, you said this was going to be a nice dinner.”

“It is a nice dinner!” She turns on him, eyes narrowing. “It’s fucking chicken in a bag from Trader Joe’s, that’s the good shit! Sorry I didn’t get take out from the goddamn Waldorf Astoria. Man, you really are stupid today.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupider.”

“You’re stupid times infinity.”

“You’re stupid times infinity plus one NO TAG BACKS!” Ymir gets up, grabbing both their bowls and carrying them to the sink where she starts to dutifully wash them. “But seriously, stop being a cunt, just call him and get this sorted out. There’s no reason for you to be miserable unless there’s actually a reason to be miserable, so find out so we can move on to more important shit like me not having to pretend to care about your crap.”

Marco already has his phone out, staring into the lock screen like it might suddenly reveal a mystical truth about the world, or just Jean. He’s hesitant to call him from Ymir’s apartment, though. He had enough instances of his cousin eavesdropping on private conversations during high school to last the rest of his life; as if sensing this, she looks up from the kitchen sink.

“I promise I won’t listen.”

“I can’t imagine why I don’t believe you.”

“Ugh, jeez, it’s like you never forget every dick move I pulled on you in your whole life.”

“I have a rolodex.”

“I can’t believe you used the word ‘rolodex’ in this day and age.”

“I can’t believe you said ‘Waldorf Astoria’ in this day and age. You know that’s a hotel, right? They have restaurants, but they’re known for-”

“No one likes a smartass, Bodt, maybe that’s why he hasn’t texted you back.”

“I don’t know if he likes any kind of ass.” He tosses the phone back and forth between his hands.

Ymir grabs a wet sponge off the counter and flings it at him. He ducks and it hits the wall behind him with a wet smack before sliding down to the floor. “If you don’t call him in twenty seconds, I’m gonna call him and I know you’ll like that a whole lot less than if you’d just done it yourself.”

“You’re still in the room,” Marco pouts, and Ymir picks up another sponge. He grabs a pillow and hides behind it. “Swear on Christa that you won’t listen?”

Ymir makes a sour face - it’s the strongest promise he can extract from her, and it may not be an appropriate time to call on this most powerful oath, but he really has no idea how this conversation will go, and he wants to keep it to himself.

“Fine. I swear on Christa.” She turns off the faucet. “I’m gonna go into the office and work on my playlist for Saturday night, I’ll have my headphones on so I won’t be able to hear anything unless you start to have really loud phone sex, which, don’t even.”

“Fine, fine,” Marco waves her away, finger hovering over the phone symbol next to Jean’s name. He considers texting him again, but that would probably just be stalling, so after another minute, he takes a deep breath and pushes “call.”

It rings about four times, and Marco is nearly tempted to hang up and tell Ymir that he tried, really, but then there’s a rough, raspy, and definitely irritated, “What?”

“Um…..hi,” Marco says, feeling himself curl up against the arm of the couch.

“...............................Marco?” Jean clears his throat and snuffles.

“Uh, yeah,” he bites his lip a little. “Are, um, are you okay?”

“Why are you calling me?”

Marco shrugs, then realizes Jean can’t see through the phone, and rubs his finger distractedly under his nose trying to come up with an answer other than _I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have sex last night._

“....I got your texts. I was at work, so that’s why it seemed like...maybe I was ignoring you. But I wasn’t.” Another long pause, so long you could drive several cruise ships through it. “And I texted you back but you didn’t answer.”

“I was asleep,” Jean still sounds grumpy.

“Oh! I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I woke you up. Never mind, go back to sleep!”

“No, I’m up now,” Jean coughs a little, shifts around in what sounds like a pile of pillows. “I just...I didn’t expect you to call me, I guess.”

“Neither did I,” Marco blurts out, then drops his head against the back of the couch. Dammiiiiit.

“...so you are mad at me.”

“No, I just...I’m confused.” He sighs. Get it together, Marco.

“........did I say something weird I don’t remember last night?” Jean’s voice is wary. “Because I’m pretty sure I replayed our whole conversation like seven times while I was lying on the bathroom floor today, but I don’t remember saying anything really shitty.”

“You didn’t. You were...surprisingly attentive.”

Jean snorts.

“Wow, thanks.”

“But you...kind of asked me to talk to you for hours and then hung up on me?” Marco takes a deep breath. “I was just wondering who…” _Who did you decide was more important than me_ , is what he wants to ask, but he just can’t seem to say it.

“Who what?”

Marco goes for it. “...you said one of your girls came to get you? And you said the other night that you...at home you don’t have anyone...”

It takes him a second before he realizes that the sound on the other end is Jean laughing. It’s a little dry, a little harsh, but it’s surprisingly attractive.

“Oh my god, did you think I hung up on you to have sex?”

“.....no?”

“You totally did! You thought I ditched you for a booty call!”

Hearing Jean say it as though it’s the most ridiculous idea ever (even if he is making fun of Marco) is like rain drenching a parched field. He nearly melts into the couch, his relief so complete he can taste it.

“What was I supposed to think?”

“I dunno, maybe that I’m not a liar?”

Marco winces.

“I didn’t say that, I just-”

“Look, Marco, I like you,” (Marco’s heart grows three sizes at that, and his cock about two and a half) “So I’m gonna share something with you, something you better keep to yourself. Hold on a sec, I need to take a picture.”

 _Holy shit_ , Marco’s heart speeds up, _what_? What is he doing? Is Jean taking a dickpic or something? Good lord, is Jean suddenly going to send him a picture of his penis? There’s a little beep in his ear that a message has arrived, and he inhales deeply before pulling the phone away and tapping the message icon.

What he sees is nothing like a penis, but it’s about as unexpected. He raises the phone back to his face.

“....why do you have a rat?”

“It’s a gerbil, idiot,” Jean sniffs.

“A gerbil.”

“Yeah.”

“You have a gerbil.”

“I have two. That one’s Jessica. She’s an escape artist, she got out last night and came to find me because she doesn’t know this house.”

“Why do you have gerbils?” Marco is aware he sounds like a dense robot, but gerbils? Really?

“Do you have a problem with gerbils?”

“You’re answering my questions with questions again.”

“You’re being really weird about my gerbils.”

Marco laughs at that, a little helplessly, the past twenty-four hours taking on a very different tone. He’d been distraught last night. He’d cried so much. He’d cried because of _gerbils_.

“It’s just...not the kind of pet I expected you to have.”

“Well what the hell do you know.”

“Not much, apparently,” Marco feels lightheaded, he’s dimly aware that he’s smiling like an idiot at the wall. “Care to fill me in?”

Jean makes a bored sound, but Marco has the sense that he’s anything but.

“Look, my parents -my mom- isn’t really a big dog or cat person, but I wanted a pet really bad when I was a kid. I told you I read ‘Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH’ about a million times, but mom can’t actually deal with mice or rats cuz of their naked tails, so she got me gerbils instead since their tails are fuzzy. I had a bunch for a while, but the last ones died years ago when I was in high school.” His voice grows soft, maybe even a little shy. “When I moved away, my mom was worried I’d be lonely, so she bought me something to keep me company in a new town, since, as you’ve repeatedly observed, I don’t have any friends.”

“You have me now,” Marco pulls a stray blanket from the end of the couch to cover himself, ducking under it so he’s secluded with this precious phone call.

“I guess I do.”

“Me and gerbils.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the other one’s name?”

“Teresa.”

“Those are fancy names for gerbils.”

“Fuck you, they’re from ‘Mrs. Frisby.’ The hell did you name your pets, ‘horrible lingering death?’ ‘Killed for character development?’ ‘MIA?’ ‘POW?’”

“I get it, I get it!” Marco laughs, “You hate my YA lit taste, I know! But no, actually, all my pets were named after breakfast foods.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I think my dad regretted letting me pick the names, but we had a dog named ‘Muffin’ and a cat named ‘Morning Bun.’”

“You are so lame.”

“Ymir briefly had a rabbit named ‘Croissant,’ but it escaped to live in the wild and start its own dynasty that ate my dad’s tulips for years.”

“Losers.”

“Says the guy over 25 who babytalks his gerbils.”

“A hundred motherfuckers can’t tell me nothin’ about how I talk to my pets.” Jean’s voice is close again, a smirk audible on his lips. “Did you really call me to talk about gerbils, though?”

“I…” Marco quickly grabs for an intention, anything other than finding out if Jean had a secret girlfriend. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. Your texts sounded pretty desperate.”

“Mm,” Jean is suddenly more reserved. “I fucked up.”

“You were upset,” Marco is cradling the phone now, trying to hold Jean as close to him as possible. “It’s okay. I’ve done stuff like that.” He doesn’t mention that he was distraught over an imaginary tryst between Jean and an anonymous stranger, but it seems about on par.

“Drunk an entire bottle of wine on your own at your mom’s birthday party, then passed out over the toilet and woken up to her crying?” He pauses, then adds quietly, “I forgot about your mom again, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Marco wishes he could see the other man now, brush his fingers across his cheek. “I’m sure she was just worried about you.”

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t’ve had to worry. I’m 26, I should be beyond getting trashed in my childhood bedroom.” There’s a sigh. “I fucked up. Like I always do.”

“Jean, everyone makes mistakes.” He winces internally at the cliche. “Even me, as perfect as you think I am.”

“Pff, you ran a whole store yesterday.”

“Yeah and I thought I was gonna be sick the whole time.”

“Don’t worry, I took care of that for both of us, ugh.”

Marco chuckles softly.

“Even so, just because you screwed up doesn’t mean the world is over. I promise.”

“Maybe not for you,” Jean says, and in an instant there’s a distance between them greater than the miles. Marco’s chest aches as he recalls Reiner’s words from earlier, that there’s something bothering Jean that he can’t even admit to himself, let alone anyone else. He remembers thinking that a hug couldn’t possibly fix all of Jean’s problems, but damn if he isn’t convinced Jean doesn’t need about twelve. To be wrapped in this blanket and held close. “...Marco?”

“I’m here,” he breathes.

“I don’t really wanna talk about this anymore.”

He sighs. “....that’s okay. We can talk about whatever you want.”

“Actually,” Jean makes a weird lip-smacky noise, “What I want right now is to brush my teeth, my mouth tastes like the devil.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Marco tries not to sound disappointed. “It’s getting late anyway.”

Should he say goodnight first this time? He debates it back and forth, the seconds ticking by, until Jean speaks again.

“Did you really call me because of my texts?”

“Yeah? Is that strange?”

“No,” Jean is close again, he could be a heartbeat away. “Just...thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Jean.” He considers a moment, then adds. “If you want to text me tomorrow, I promise to check every so often.”

“You’re so gracious.”

“Apparently you get upset when I don’t pay attention to you.”

“You’re one to talk,” the haughty arrogance is back, and it’s welcome.

“Oh, one more thing, though, when are you coming back?”

“Probably tomorrow like I planned, but pretty late cuz I have to make stuff up to my mom, and then...” he trails off for a moment. “Why?”

“Eren and Armin are having a party for Mikasa.”

“Wow. Somehow I don’t think I’m invited.”

“No, you are though. I asked Eren.”

“There’s a catch here.” He can just picture Jean’s expression: eyes slitted, shoulders hunched, wary all through his wiry body.

“No catch, really. They’re having dinner at their place, then going to a bar. Ymir is DJing.”

“Oh, fantastic, all of my favorite people in one place.”

“I thought you liked Mikasa?”

Jean makes a non-committal grunt that sounds sort of like “trains sailed whatever,” and Marco feels a sudden thrill that he pushes away before he can think too much about it.

“Please come?” It comes out more plaintive than he’d like. “I promise it’ll be fine. To the bar, at least? You don’t even have to talk to Eren, I’ll make sure you don’t even look at each other.”

“And if Sasha and Biff Beefbroth try to poison me again?”

“His name is Reiner.”

“His name is Robert Paulson.”

“Jean…”

“Fine, Reiner.”

“Sasha likes you now, and Reiner will like you too if you give him a chance. It’ll be fun.” He grasps at his meager bargaining tools. “If don’t you come, I’ll tell everyone at work about your gerbils.”

“You dirty son of a bitch!” Marco has to hold the phone away from his ear at the shout. “Don’t you fucking use my own girls against me!”

“I totally will. I will tell everyone at the store that Jean is a big softie who likes tiny tiny animals unless you agree to come.”

A few more exasperated grumbles come over the phone before Jean says, “Fine. Asshole. I’ll come to your stupid party.”

“Mikasa’s stupid party.”

“What the hell ever, I’m going to brush my teeth now like a fucking adult!”

“Thank you, Jean.” Marco’s voice is bright.

“Bite me, Marco.”

“Don’t tempt me,” it spills out before he can catch himself, but however Jean reacts physically, his voice stays even.

“You tell anyone about my gerbils, I fucking kill you, you hear me? I don’t care how nice you are-”

“Good night, Jean!” Marco singsongs, waiting just an instant before he hears the gentle huff of a laugh and then, “Night Marco.”

He ends the call, feeling excitement and relief and love shivering all the way down to his toes. He wouldn’t necessarily categorize the conversation as cheerful, since Jean had once again drifted towards a dark place Marco can’t touch yet, but the world is certainly spinning a little more evenly now.

“Gerbils,” he laughs to himself, “I can’t believe-”

He pulls the blanket off his head and bangs directly into something hard.

He screams.

It screams.

Ymir comes bolting out of the office, headphones around her neck, cord dangling behind her.

“BABYGIRL?!?!”

“I’m all right!” Christa is sitting on the opposite end of the couch, rubbing her forehead. “I startled Marco.”

Marco grits his teeth as he presses his hand to his own head, the impact reverberating down his nearly healed cheek.

“Sorry!”

“No no, I’m sorry!” Christa tries to smile. “I just got home and I wasn’t sure if Ymir had fallen asleep on the couch again, I should have said something before I-” She’s cut off by Ymir leaning over her, pressing soft kisses to her hair and murmuring quietly about getting her some ice.

“It’s really okay, Christa.” Marco winces a smile. “It’s your house.”

“Yeah it is,” Ymir straightens and pads to the kitchen, opening the freezer and shoving fistfulls of ice into a plastic bag. “So you can get your own ice, since you injured the queen of the castle.”

“Ymir! Marco is a guest!”

“Marco is a pest,” Ymir makes a face, “Who’s been on the phone to his fuckface boyfriend for like five hours.”

“It was nowhere near that long.”

“Oooh, is Jean your boyfriend now?” Christa leans quickly towards Marco and he rears back before their heads collide again.

“No, he’s not, but we are friends. It’s...progress.”

“Booooring,” Ymir brings the ice back to the couch. She shoves Marco’s feet off and sits down in their place before hauling Christa into her lap and gently tending to the growing lump on near her hairline. “Tell us when you’re doing something interesting like putting stuff in his butt.”

“I didn’t think that was the sort of thing you really wanted to hear about,” Marco gets to his evicted feet and stretches. “I guess old age is changing you.”

“Get out of my house, you disgusting freeloading whorebasket.”

“I love you too,” he says, heading for his coat. “Thanks for dinner and your charming company, as ever.”

“We’ll see you at Mikasa’s party, right?” Christa peers below the icebag.

“Yeah. And you can meet Jean.”

“Great,” Ymir scowls, “I’m sure he’ll be the life of the party.”

“You’ll be DJing, you won’t even know he’s there.”

“Good. I like it that way.”

“Night Ymir, night Christa,” he waves and lets himself out into the hallway.

Before he goes out into the frigid night, he pulls his phone from his pocket, just in case. Nothing from Jean, but there is one message.

>>From: Christa  
i hope ur head is ok luv u 2 this is ymir not christa dont get ideas

He smiles, and then clicks back to Jean’s thread, looking at the small furry face peering up at him.

“Jealous over gerbils,” he says to himself, shaking his head. “What are _you_ like, Marco, honestly.”

He puts his phone away and goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe in rodents. And the power of Trader Joe's bagged chicken. 
> 
> (...why are all my end notes about food lately.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa's birthday party is a crash course in the many levels of relationship interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the time delay in posting this! I heichou at my job now, and that means going in at 7 am to do extra heichouly duties. It's also ended up being the longest chapter so far, and while I debated about splitting it into two parts...it felt right to keep it all as one massive chunk. So you might want to get some snacks.
> 
> You know my crew: [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who does not practice tornado safety, Heichousquad [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), who has been very patient with me, [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com), who has traveled to a distant land, and [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks), who, in spite of her insanely busy life, still finds time to comfort me as I wail into the wastes. (She's got a tumblr too, [go bend the knee there.](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com))

Marco lets himself sleep to the completely decadent hour of ten o’clock, only waking up then because his phone starts ringing. After knocking it off the bedside table and onto the floor, he manages to answer on the fourth ring.

“Hi Marco!” Eren chirps cheerfully. “Oh, were you still in bed?”

“I needed to get up anyway,” Marco yawns, “Did you still want me to come over?”

“Yeah, of course, Armin just reminded me that you might not know remember where our new place is.”

 _That’s right,_ he remembers - Armin, Eren and Mikasa had moved just before Christmas, but with his surgery and the season, and then...well, Jean at work, Marco hasn’t yet been to their new home.

“Ah, yeah, I’d’ve totally gone to your old place.”

“That would have been super embarrassing for you.”

“It would have been your fault for not telling me.”

“You haven’t come over at all since we moved!”

“You haven’t invited me!”

“What’s that? Marco? I can’t hear you, I’m going through a tunnel…” Marco rolls his eyes as Eren makes bad static noises; he can hear Armin in the background saying something indistinct and Eren goes back to normal with a laugh, “Right, anyway, I’ll text you the address when we hang up. I would’ve texted you anyway, but some people don’t check their phones obsessively and I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“What time do you want me to come over?” Marco rubs the sleep out of his eyes with his middle finger.

“Uh, Annie’s coming over around one, sooooo…”

“I’ll be there at noon.”

“Awesome.” There’s a hint of relief in Eren’s voice, and Marco can’t help but feel badly for him again. Someone is going to have to say something, there’s a vital conversation that’s being missed here, but it’s not really his business to get involved unless he’s invited. And right now, all he’s invited for is cleaning and a party.

“Do you want me to bring anything? Is there a dress code?”

“Hold on, let me check - Armin,” Eren shouts directly into the phone and Marco winces, “Do we need Marco to bring anything? Here, let me give him the phone.”

Armin’s voice comes over the line at a significantly more appropriate volume.

“Hi Marco, would you mind terribly picking up a few garlic cloves? I tried to account for the appetites of all our friends, but we decided to go with garlic bread too, and I’m afraid we’re going to run short.”

“Not a problem. Anything else?”

“Uh...I don’t think so. Annie is in charge of the vegetables, Christa is bringing the flowers and a tablecloth, and we’ve got all the everything else. Maybe a fire extinguisher in case Eren explodes the mixer again-” “THAT WAS ONE TIME AND I WAS SEVEN!!” “-or some kind of red wine? Mikasa would appreciate that. You don’t have to go too fancy, though, since we’ll be going out later anyway.”

“Sounds good. Should I bring something nice to wear, though?”

“Honestly, if you wouldn’t mind bringing a button down and a tie, that would be great. We’re trying to make things as nice as possible since we can’t afford to actually take her to a fancy restaurant.”

“But we can take her to a badass dance party afterwards!” Eren has grabbed the phone back, “Anyway, we gotta get started, we’ll see you in a bit okay? Don’t forget the garlic and the booze, bye!”

Eren hangs up on him before he can form a response; this is becoming a trend, it seems. Nevertheless, Marco stretches and gets out of bed, mentally running through tie and dress-shirt combinations as he walks to the bathroom to shower. It occurs to him on the way that he could text Jean and tell him to wear a tie. That would be a nice touch, and maybe endear him to Eren and Mikasa a little more.

But honestly...does he want Jean to be endeared to Mikasa?

And really, who would care what he’s wearing by the time they get to the bar?

But the thought of Jean in a tie has already taken root, and the image of the cranky man dressed up nicely isn’t really lessening his morning erection. In fact it’s brought it back in full force.

So even if he’ll need another one after cleaning, now is a very good time to take a very long shower.

-

Eren, Armin and Mikasa’s new place turns out to be a small townhouse, part of a line of them just off a main street. Marco can already tell that this place has to put a bit more strain on their finances than the old apartment, but it's definitely a whole world away in quality.

“Heeeeeey!” Eren is yanking the door open almost before the bell has finished ringing, dragging Marco into the foyer and shutting the door on winter behind them. “Come on in, I’m gonna give you the tour!”

He waits impatiently as Marco takes off his shoes and hangs up his coat on the rack; Armin raises his head from where he’s sitting on the couch looking at cookbooks, pencil in his mouth. He waves at Marco. He’s been wearing his hair in that tight ponytail more and more often, and while it's a good style for him, Marco wonders a little at what or who instigated the change.

“First of all, welcome to Castle Armikaren!”

“I...sorry, but that’s an awful name.” Marco can’t help laughing.

“Isn’t it, though?” Armin takes the pencil out of his mouth. “We keep telling him that, but he’s being really stubborn about it.”

“It’s better than our old place. What did Connie and Sasha call it? ‘Eren’s Basement?’”

“Yeah,” Marco nods with a smile, “Although that wasn’t really fair to Armin or Mikasa.”

“No, it was completely fair.” Armin tucks the pencil behind his ear. “Since he was the one who chose it.”

“It was in our price range at the time,” Eren glowers at Armin, “And you guys had no problems with it before the air conditioning broke. It’s not the worst place we’ve lived.”

“No, that would be when we lived in Shiganshina and you couldn’t pronounce the name right half the time.”

Eren looks seriously at Marco.

“Dude, never live somewhere that you can’t pronounce when you’re drunk.”

Armin stands up to join them.

“He once told a cab driver we lived in ‘Shigashigashithole,’ which, while a pretty accurate description, was not helpful in getting us home.”

“Aaaaanyway, let me show you around.” Eren turns on his heel and gestures to the house. The front wall to the left of the foyer has bay windows, and facing against them is a desk with a rolling office chair. The area is closed off slightly by a few bookshelves, loaded as full as possible with everything from Tanizaki’s “Some Prefer Nettles” to Uta Hagen’s “Respect for Acting” to leather bound reprints of classic medical texts. After that space comes the living room with the couch, coffee table, and TV. The room opens into a surprisingly spacious kitchen.

And then there’s boxes. Boxes and boxes. Some half opened, some with a layer of dust gathering along their edges. It seems like the unpacking stopped halfway and never resumed, and he notices Eren fidgeting and Armin tugging on his ponytail.

Marco shifts a little, trying not to smile.

“The bookshelves look nice. And I like the general decor. It’s very ‘the back room of the store.’”

“Well we couldn’t not unpack the books,” Armin avoids his eyes, “It wouldn’t have felt like home.”

“But then we got distracted, I guess?” Eren shrugs.

“For two months?”

“Well when you work all day, do you think ‘oh boy, now that I’m home, what I’d really like to do is unpack my life?’”

“No, I’m just surprised that Mikasa didn’t end up doing it all on her own.”

“Yeah, uh, she’s been getting more and more hinty about how much it bothers her, so...” Eren clears his throat, “We thought maybe if we did something to fix the house up it would serve as another part of her birthday present.”

“So you asked me here to clean,” Marco raises an eyebrow, “But what you really meant was ‘Marco please finish moving in for us.’”

Eren has the decency to duck his head in embarrassment, but Armin looks a bit cheeky.

“You were the only one we could lure here under false pretenses. Everyone else has seen Fort Boxington.” He grins slyly at Marco. “I tried to give you an out yesterday, but you were too busy being lost to your own thoughts and you still agreed to come.”

Marco laughs softly, pointedly not saying anything about gerbils. 

“Right, you caught me in your sinister trap. Where do you want to start?”

“First I’m gonna show you the rest of the house!” Eren grabs his hand and starts dragging him up the stairs. “And Armin is gonna make some coffee while I do that.”

Armin nods in agreement and heads toward the kitchen while Marco stumbles upwards after Eren.

“So over here is Mikasa’s room.”

Eren opens the door to the room at the top of the stairs; it’s the only one that seems to be in any real sort of order so far. A folded out futon serves as a bed - it’s nicely made with a worn but comfy looking pale blue comforter. There’s another desk and set of shelves in here, again filled to capacity with books. A series of instrument cases is placed neatly on one side of the desk, and several plastic drawers filled with clothes sits on the other. What really makes this different from the rest of the house, though is the collection of things on the walls. There’s several posters of high school and college productions, a number of them featuring Eren as part of the cast. There's a collection of origami cranes hanging in rows from a hook in the corner, some more skillfully made than others; Marco doesn't doubt they number exactly one thousand. There’s a lifetime of photos, spanning summer vacations at beaches, school dances and graduations and plenty of random candids. Right next to the bed is the only framed picture: the three of them on a pier, ocean stretching out behind them. Eren and Armin are both wearing giant mirrored traffic-cop shades, and Mikasa has a large sunhat on, but what’s really striking is their expressions. All of them look happy, even Mikasa. Marco is certain he’s never seen her smile like that, and maybe he’s not supposed to. That's the kind of happiness meant for someone (or someones) very special.

He’d never for a moment have considered Mikasa the sentimental type, and suddenly he feels like he’s trespassing, so he backs out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. Eren doesn’t seem to notice his discomfort, and wanders down the hall.

“Bathroom’s here.” He gestures inside, and Marco has to smile at the rubber duck patterned shower curtain. “The one downside is that it’s the only one besides the creepy half bath down in the basement, but we pretend that’s not there. But look, this has a skylight and everything! And this way,” he continues, “We have our closets on the landing, and then at the end of the hall is my and Armin’s room.”

In stark contrast to Mikasa’s room, this one has clothes tossed about haphazardly, some hanging off the dresser, the drawers of which are all slightly open. The decoration in here is post-it notes on the walls that say things like book and movie titles, phone numbers and “THURSDAY: TRASH!!! DON’T FORGET!!!” And there’s only one bed, violently unmade.

“You remember our totally gay sleeping arrangement, right?” Eren plops down on the tangle of sheets, grinning up at Marco. “But we went really crazy when we moved and got a full bed, so now when Mikasa sleeps with us we’re not like...on top of each other.”

Marco remembers the first time he went to the trio’s previous home (shortly after they met) and found out that Eren and Armin had, by virtue of circumstance and then choice, shared a bed since they were children. It seemed a little strange, considering that until recently it had appeared that Armin had deeper feelings than friendship for Eren, but it wasn’t really for Marco to question. It breaks his heart a little, now, to see Eren so obliviously pleased with the situation, unaware that Armin is changing in a way that might lead to two beds in this room.

He forces a smile onto his face.

“It’s awesome. I’m glad you guys got such a nice place, you deserve it.”

“Well, me and Armin would sleep in a ditch if we had to, Mikasa really deserves it. We saved so long to be able to live somewhere decent.” He chews his lip a little, looking up at Marco with a pleading expression, but his eyes are open so wide he comes off resembling a green-eyed tarsier rather than a puppy. “Are you sure you don’t mind helping us unpack a bit more? I’m sorry I kinda...didn’t really tell you the specifics.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Eren beams, “And we haven’t hung out in ages, especially not since you started mooning over facebutt. ...is he coming by the way?”

“He said he’d probably join us at the bar, he has a few more things to do in Trost today,” Marco opts not to acknowledge the insult.

“Do you know what his deal is?” Eren levers himself off the bed and pads out of the room, moving back towards the stairs. “I mean, like, why he went home?”

“Just family stuff, I think.”

“You guys talking a lot?”

“More, yeah,” Marco actually reaches for his phone at that point, and can’t help smiling when he sees he has a text from Jean. “I’ll be right down, let me just answer this.”

“Oh my god,” Eren rolls his eyes, “He texted you didn’t he? Gross.”

“You’re gross,” he says absently, replying to Jean’s “mom wants to go to lunch and i havent eaten since Thursday but i cant fucking take her to mcdonalds and all i want to eat is fries wtf do i do,” with a “Perhaps she’d consider Burger King more upscale? :)”

When they’re both downstairs, he starts to roll up his sleeve as Armin outlines the plan: they’re going to put some card tables up in the living room, and leave a few of the boxes unpacked to serve as extra seats since they don’t have enough chairs. He’s drawn a little diagram of how he wants to set up the room, and along the side is a timeline for cooking. Marco knows Armin is organized to a fault, so he can’t help wondering a little bit why this wasn’t taken care of before, but then the doorbell rings and Armin is suddenly flushed and _now_ he knows why.

Eren lets Annie in with less verve than he did Marco, but he’s chatting with her amiably as she sets down several bags to take off her coat and shoes. She nods at Marco.

“Are you back to normal today?”

“Are you still quitting books to hawk exercise equipment on TV?”

“Good.” She nods again, then looks at Armin, and the faintest hint of pleasure quirks at the corners of her mouth.

“Hey Annie,” he says, almost shyly, “I was just going over the layout for tonight if you want to look…”

“Let me take these to the kitchen,” she says, gathering up the bags and walking through the house confidently, as though she’s been there before. As though she belongs there.

Eren makes a strange noise at Marco’s side, but Armin doesn’t seem to hear it; he’s followed Annie into the kitchen and is helping her unload the vegetables into an already overstocked fridge.

“...should we get started?” Marco turns to Eren, who blinks once, then smiles wanly at Marco.

“Yeah, let’s do it to it.”

-

Several hours later, when Annie is carefully balanced on Marco’s shoulders to dust off the light fixtures, Eren flops on the couch, pulling the bandana he’d had over his mouth down around his neck.

“We are never moving again. Or if we do, we’re burning all our things and starting from scratch.”

“Half those boxes of were stuff of yours, Eren,” Marco says, trying both not to appear as embarrassed as he feels to have his head between Annie’s muscular thighs or to consider how envious Armin looks of his position.

Eren mumbles something indistinct and Annie pats Marco’s hair, signaling she wants to be let down. He kneels and she dismounts, brushing excess dust off her sweater.

“Your shoulders are much less bony that Bert’s, it’s a nice change.”

“You know we do have a ladder at the store, Annie,” Armin calls fondly from the kitchen, now very deliberately not looking at her.

“It’s faster to use Bert,” her voice is smooth and dry, and she goes to him, putting her hand on his lower back as she had that day in the store. Armin turns to look at her and Marco quickly sits down next to Eren, who has picked up one of the discarded cookbooks and seems, at present, heedless of the tone in the next room.

“So what are we making?”

“Oh you don’t have to do any of the cooking,” Eren flips through the pages, “But we’re doing homemade spaghetti and meatballs and garlic bread. It may not seem fancy, but it’s her favorite. The one downside is we have to make like 70 meatballs because otherwise Connie and Sasha and Reiner will be the only people that get any.” He looks up, glancing into the kitchen where Annie and Armin are now at the sink washing vegetables and standing much closer together than is necessary, and he frowns, quickly returning to the book. “You know Annie’s vegetarian, so she’s gonna make some sauce without meat, which is the only kind we know how to do. I’m gonna try to start a cake once the sauce is going, and we'll do the noodles once everyone gets here, but you don’t have to do anything, you can just hang out. Take a shower if you want, you’re looking a little more disheveled than when you got here.”

Marco almost protests - he’s not entirely sure he wants to leave Eren alone with the...lovebirds doesn’t seem right for anything involving Annie, maybe something like “cuddly hedgehogs,” but he does feel grimy. He’ll need a shower if he’s going to be seeing Jean tonight.

That reminds him: he hasn’t checked his phone in a while. He pulls it out as Eren continues to flip through the cookbook.

**> >From: Jean  
apparently what my mom wanted most for her birthday was to take me shopping. help.**

The message is from two hours earlier, Marco bites the edge of his lip as he responds.

**> >From: Me  
Oops, sorry, I was helping out with party preparations. I hope you’ve survived your ordeal.**

“Are you guys cooking or like making out or something, jeez,” Eren has stood up and is wandering toward Annie and Armin who step apart quite deliberately. “Do you need help? Here give me that knife, I’ll chop these.”

“I’ve got it, Eren-”

“Onions still make you cry, Armin,” Eren nudges his way directly in between the two, “Gimme. Annie move over, gosh.”

Armin looks flustered, Annie looks irritated, and Marco manages not to facepalm. He hear his phone and quickly returns to it.

**> >From: Jean  
yeah thanks for nothing. turns out im gonna die in a dressing room instead of my bathroom.**

**> >From: Me  
Is that better or worse?**

**> >From: Jean  
honestly? not sure. oh no here come more sweaters**

The couch shifts, Armin sighing as he sits down to Marco’s right.

“Well now there’s some kind of Iron Chef competition between the two of them.”

“You need to tell him, Armin,” Marco surprises himself by saying it. He keeps his eyes on the phone as he feels the other man stiffen next to him. “He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“He never does.” Armin looks down at his hands, voice soft but bitter. “Eren is many things, but observant isn’t one of them. Things might have been very different if he was.”

“Even so,” Marco lays his phone down on the table, “You could have said anything at any time.”

“And if I had, what then?” Armin’s eyes are sharp, their usual intelligence clouded by what Marco recognizes as sorrow and anger. “Eren and Mikasa have been my whole life and I never wanted to do anything to compromise that. I finally gave up on us being something else when he started mooning over Levi, and Annie… I like her. I like her in a way I haven’t liked anyone but Eren since...sometime in middle school. I’m moving on, and now suddenly he’s getting weird about me hanging around with her?”

“Armin-”

“Marco,” his friend’s voice is low but serious, “Eren has never looked at me the way you look at Jean. Annie does.”

He sputters.

“There's no reason to bring Jean into this!”

“It is if you’re going to scold me for not being honest when you’ve been circling Jean like a shark for weeks now…”

Marco was not expecting a confrontation today, and he feels himself going on the defensive. Armin always has an uncanny read on any situation, but this is not the time or the place for him to be calling Marco out on anything relationship related. He narrows his eyes, quickly making sure that Eren and Annie are too distracted by their vegetable contest to be listening in.

“Hold on a damn minute, Armin,” he hisses. “Jean and Eren are two completely different people! And you’re avoiding the subject.”

“They’re more alike than you’d think, Marco, and they’re both the kind of person that is terrified by sudden change, especially when it threatens their sense of stability. I’m not going to keep this from Eren forever, just like you couldn’t keep how you feel from Jean even if you wanted to. But I’m not doing it tonight. I’m not going to do anything that will distract Eren from throwing a great party for Mikasa.”

The tension is souring his stomach; he folds his arms tightly across his chest, staring out the front windows for a few moments. Something Reiner said comes to mind.

“Reiner mentioned yesterday that he thinks whatever made Jean move here...he’s not able to be honest with himself about it, so he can’t be honest with anyone else, and I was too selfish to realize that. And now you’re saying I’m not being honest with him either.”

Armin is quiet for a little while before answering.

“...to be fair, neither of us is being honest with people we care about. But I think, like Reiner said, we’re not honest with ourselves either. We want to have things both ways. If you don’t tell Jean how you feel, you don’t have to worry about altering the status quo with him, and you’ve worked hard to get here. If I don’t tell Eren, I get to keep him as close as I want with no complications from bringing someone else into our lives.”

“All we ever wanted was everything,” Marco mutters shaking his head. “I feel like an asshole.”

“You are an asshole, kind of,” Marco glares at him, “It’s subtle. But so am I. Actually, so is Eren. And Jean. And...pretty much all of our friends, in their own way. Everyone you know is a special asshole flower.”

In spite of himself, Marco laughs.

“That sounds like something Levi would say.”

“My desk is ten feet from his, I was bound to pick up something sooner or later.” Armin purses his lips and blows some of his long bangs out of his face. “In any case, I promise you. I will talk to Eren. It’s frightening to me, but I’m going to do it. By the end of the week at the latest. Just not tonight.”

“Okay.” Marco nods. “That’s fair. You’ll forgive me, though, if I take a little longer with Jean. I don’t have twenty years of history with him.”

“That might make it easier,” Armin says, “But I understand. I just hope you do it eventually, and somewhat sooner rather than a long time from now later.”

“It'll happen when it happens," he sighs, "This...really means a lot to me, and I don't want to fuck it up."

Armin puts his hand on Marco’s arm, and he turns to look at the shorter man. He’s smiling sadly.

“I don't think you will. But did I fuck up our day? Are we all right?”

“Yeah,” Marco returns the smile softly, “I’ve just been getting a lot to think about when I’m looking for immediate emotional gratification. It’s annoying trying to be angry about something when people keep being so reasonable.”

“Isn’t it, though? It’s almost like we’re adults who can address problems with words instead of yelling or punching each other until someone falls down.”

Marco raises an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t seem like your modus operandi.”

“Well it was Eren’s from age 9 to 13,” a stray piece of onion goes flying past him. “And as you can see, little has changed.” Armin stands up. “You guys we just cleaned, come on.”

Both Eren and Annie pause, the former readying another piece of onion, the latter wielding a zucchini like a baseball bat. She has the decency to blink shyly, then lower the vegetable. Eren merely considers Armin for a moment, then throws the onion at him instead. It lands on his shirt, sticking there stubbornly just below the collar.

“...pay attention to us?”

“Marco,” Armin picks the offending food carefully off his chest, “Now might be a good time to take a shower. There’s towels in the second closet on the landing.”

Marco rises warily.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. You don’t want to be called as a witness to what's about to happen.”

“Annie started it!” Eren whines, then grunts as she smack him in the stomach with the zucchini.

“Eren is a tattletale.”

“Run while you can, Marco,” Armin reaches back to tighten his ponytail, “It’s about to get real in here.”

“I thought we were just talking about solving things with words like adults.”

“Being an adult means deciding when to talk,” Annie extends the zucchini in front of her like a fencing foil, “And when it’s better to settle things like children.” She glances to Marco. “I’d get out before you become collateral damage.”

Shaking his head, Marco gathers his things and heads to the bathroom, pausing halfway up the stairs at an extremely undignified shriek from Eren (“Jesus fuck, not the mushrooms!”) and what might be Annie laughing. For the first time since he started considering the what's happening between Armin and Eren and Annie, he starts to think that maybe things will work out all right. 

-

When Marco returns from his shower, the kitchen itself is relatively clean, but there are carrot peels in Armin’s hair, Eren has what looks to be half a bottle of olive oil soaked into his shirt, and even Annie is lightly dusted in flour. The three of them are, however, cooking quite companionably to music from Eren’s laptop, and Marco sits down on the couch, watching them quietly for a long while before any of them notices he’s there.

“Come here,” Annie beckons him over, offering a spoonful of sauce, her hand carefully positioned under it. “Tell me what you think.”

He tries it, considering for a moment, then nodding.

“That’s really good, Annie.” 

“It should be better after it thickens.”

“Can I try?” Armin asks hopefully, shaping a meatball in his palm before putting it on the a tray already mostly full.

“You are not coming near me with your meathands,” Annie points the now-empty spoon at him. 

“I don’t have meathands!” Eren says from the far corner of the counter, “Just cakehands, is that okay?”

“Fine, but I’m not carrying it all the way over there.” 

Eren bounds over to her, and Marco returns back to the party set up in the living room, turning on lights as he goes. The darkness of winter makes it hard to distinguish the time, but he’s fairly certain that Mikasa should be getting home soon.

“How much of this is a surprise? Won’t Mikasa be off work around now if she opened?”

“We asked Sasha and Connie to distract her for a bit,” Armin picks up the meatball tray, “I think they went to a movie, so we should be okay for a while yet.”

“This needs to simmer,” Annie steps away from the stove, wiping her hands on a nearby towel. “I’m going to take a shower now.”

She looks at Armin with such careful, innuendo-laden intensity that he nearly drops his tray. For a moment, Marco thinks she’s going to ask him straight out to shower with her, but then Eren’s voice cuts through, singing along with Bif Naked's “Spaceman," and the spell is broken. Annie leaves the kitchen and goes upstairs to the bathroom; Armin reaches to rub his face with his hand, realizes he’s just been touching raw meat, and sighs. Marco quickly looks at his phone and finds he’s missed another message from Jean.

**> >From: Jean  
leaving trost now see you in a few hours**

He shouldn’t be that excited, but he can’t help it. He quickly sends “Drive safely!” followed by “And don’t text and drive!” then sits on the couch and wonders what to do with himself. He’s quickly saved from that quandry by the doorbell ringing.

“Marco,” Eren calls, “Can you get that?”

Christa has arrived, one arm laden with a massive bouquet of flowers, the other with several different tablecloths. 

“Hi Marco!” She chirps as he takes the flowers from her, “Is your head all right?”

“Totally fine, I’d completely forgotten about it.”

“Wonderful,” she beams, hanging up her coat. “Hello hello!”

“Hi Christa,” Eren and Armin reply in unison, Eren setting down his whisk and wiping his hands on his apron as he comes over.

“Shit, those flowers are beautiful, thank you so much.” He leans forward and kisses Christa on the cheek, and she blushes prettily. “But how many tablecloths did you even bring?”

“I thought I’d err on the side of caution,” she says, “If you can find somewhere to put the flowers for now, I’ll start setting up the table.”

Marco feels a bit useless until Christa invites him to help her. 

“Ymir won’t be able to make it,” she frowns a little as she smoothes the blue and white checkered cloth across the table, “There’s been some technical problems at the bar and you know she doesn’t like anyone else touching her equipment.”

“You mean she hates it and would probably bite someone’s face off if they tried.”

“That too,” she grins, “That’s my baby.” She bumps her hip into his thigh and looks up at him, blue eyes sparkling. “I’m really excited to meet Jean tonight.”

“I hope you’re not disappointed,” Marco can feel himself blushing. 

“You like him very much, he can’t be too terrible, can he?”

“You’d be surprised,” Marco chuckles as he takes the newly-vased flowers from Eren and places them in the center of the table. 

“It’s starting to look like a party in here!” He says brightly. “Thanks so much you guys.”

Reiner and Bert arrive as Christa is putting the finishing touches on Annie’s makeup. Eren and Armin finish their cooking at the last minute and dart upstairs to get ready, showering in such record time that Marcon can't help but ponder if _they_ showered together. They're pounding down the stairs after one another just as the front door cracks open and Sasha pokes her head in.

“We ready?”

“Ready!” Eren affirms, and they all gather in front of the table. Marco has a moment to think that they are a damn attractive group of people when Mikasa walks into her own house and looks, for just an instant, like she’s fallen not only through the mirror but about three others beyond that. 

“Happy birthday!” her friends cry, Bert ending up saying “-day” a few seconds behind everyone else and then looking away when Annie makes a face at him. Mikasa regards them all emotionlessly for several seconds. 

“...I feel underdressed,” is what she finally comes up with, then starts up the stairs to her room. It’s brief and only in passing, but Marco is almost certain that he catches a hint of that elusive smile from the photographs on her walls. 

There’s a pause, then Eren claps his hands. 

“Dude, you guys, she’s so happy, this is going to be so awesome!”

And it is. 

Mikasa reappears in a simple black dress and her trademark red scarf, and the group talks for a while, doling out Reiner’s champagne and Marco’s bottle of wine before sitting down to what is a simple but elegant dinner. There’s never a lapse in conversation, which might be odd, considering that everyone at the table -excepting Christa- spends at least five days a week with everyone else there (and in the case of the cohabitants, every single day), but the camaraderie is free and easy and the tone is warm. Sasha and Connie act out a few scenes from ‘The Lego Movie;” Mikasa mentions that Erwin called during the day and will be stopping by the store later in the week; Christa, Reiner and Annie discuss basketball scores and Armin talks to Bert about the graphic novel "Radioactive," which he's just read. The one downside, as far as Marco can see it, is that Jean isn’t there. And maybe it’s for the best, since he imagines Jean would be significantly uncomfortable, but there’s so much affection in the room...it could be so good for him. 

Eren’s cake is a success, and Bert is sneaking bites of a distracted Reiner’s third piece as they try to hash out details for the rest of the night. Parking downtown can be difficult, especially on a Saturday, and Armin takes his usual spot as one carpool/designated driver. Connie finally steps up as an another option when no one else will. 

“Sasha and I open in the morning,” he says with a resigned shrug, “We shouldn’t get crazy tonight anyway.”

“Look at you, stepping up to responsibility,” Reiner nudges him, “Next you’ll be buying a house and settling down.”

“Errrrr,” Connie offers, glancing at Sasha, who decides that’s a very good time to start talking to Annie about when “Game of Thrones” is coming back. Annie looks non-plussed, but indulges her, and the other conversation is immediately dropped in favor of getting ready to go. 

Marco checks his phone as he drops into the backseat of Connie’s car, seeing a message that Jean has been delayed due to bad roads, and frowning. 

“You guys are squishing meeee,” Sasha moans from in between him and Reiner.

“Sorry doll,” Reiner snorts, “Bert the human spider has to sit in front, and I’m not sitting bitch even it it means putting my knees up my nose.”

“I’m not a spider.”

“Ask Marco if you can sit on his lap?”

“Naw, that’s got a sign that says ‘Jean only’ on it,” she nudges him playfully, and he rolls his eyes. “We can joke about your lovelife again right? Right? It’s been like two weeks.”

“I don’t think I could stop you if I tried,” Marco makes his voice as long-suffering as he possibly can. 

“Pouty-baby,” Sasha responds, patting his cheek. “Connie, this ain’t no hayride, let’s move this thing!”

The drive to the bar isn’t long, but Connie drives like Speed Racer on cocaine, so they arrive in record time. The way he skid-slides sideways into a parallel parking spot is both truly incredible and horrifying, and Bert looks visibly ill as Reiner helps him out of the passenger seat. 

“Part of me is gone,” he’s muttering, “Part of me is gone forever.”

The Majestic is an old theater, the floor seating long ago replaced with a dance floor. The bar is near the entrance, with scattered tables around the perimeter, and a mezzanine that features steep stadium seating for the times it acts as a concert or movie space. Marco walks in behind his friends and sees Ymir already on stage, headphones firmly in place as she checks and double checks her equipment -the pioneer dj mixer that cost as much as her car, her trusty laptop, and a jungle of complicated, weaving cables. He waves at her but she doesn’t look up; Ymir getting ready before a performance is the closest Marco thinks he’s ever seen to his cousin meditating. She’s in a world all her own. 

Marco orders a gin and tonic and leans against the bar to watch her work. The only time she seems to consider the rest of reality is when Christa appears at her side with a tupperware full of spaghetti left over from the party. They exchange a kiss, then Ymir sets the food down below the table, where Marco is sure she’ll forget it. 

It’s past 10:30 by then, and as everyone else gets their drinks or mills around, Marco checks his phone with an almost frantic frequency. Still no word from Jean. He probably isn’t dead, but what if he gets home too late to come? What if he decides not to show up at all? Marco wouldn’t actually hold true to the threat about his precious gerbils, but he can’t help thinking his night will end on a sad note if he doesn’t get to see Jean. 

The lights go dim, though, and the screen hanging just above the DJ setup lights up with those same explosions Marco knows so well: Ymir’s intro has begun. The sound of a helicopter starts to pulse through the speakers, Martin Sheen intones “I wanted a mission. And for my sins they gave me one,” before the bass drops, the lights start flashing, and Ke$ha declares that she wakes up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy. Marco can’t help laughing at the cheer that comes from Eren on the dancefloor - Ke$ha is not usually part of Ymir’s roster, but she is Mikasa’s guilty pleasure and this is undoubtedly for her. It makes him feel so good to be a part of this night...even if he’s checking his phone again about 30 seconds later. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Sasha grabs his hand when she finds him still leaning at the bar several songs into the set, “You bettah work!”

He’s not a good dancer by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s no worse than Bert or Reiner (honestly, they may have cornered the market on “ugly white boy dancing”), and he’s among friends. It’s probably better than eating his heart out over whether or not Jean will show up, so he loses himself in Ymir’s eclectic but delicately crafted playlist. 

A long time later, worn out from cleaning and bouncing around like an idiot, he’s nursing a beer on the mezzanine, watching Mikasa and Annie dancing with an abandon neither of them often exhibits when someone sits down next to him. He’s a little tipsy and lot tired, but he’d recognize that hat anywhere, even in dim profile. 

Jean drags it off his head and leans back, setting down his glass of soda on the small table between them. He’s wearing a red hoodie instead of a button down and a tie, but he’s there. 

“And here I thought the party didn’t start til I walked in. Someone’s gonna have to answer for that.” Marco is aware he’s gaping at the other man, but his thoughts have suddenly fallen out of his head and pooled at his feet. Jean gives him a moment before he smirks. “I told you I was coming.”

“I…” Marco blushes, “I was just...it’s getting late.”

“Yeah, the roads were bad, and I stopped for fries along the way, then I had to drop the girls off at home before I came out. But ta-dah, I made it.”

“I’m so glad,” Marco knows he looks entirely too delighted, but he can’t help himself, “Welcome home, Jean.”

Jean’s eyes widen a little at that, and he ducks his head a little, looking back at the dance floor. 

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

A bass-heavy version of “Untouched” by the Veronicas fills the space between them. _It’s a little too fitting,_ Marco thinks, as the lead singer insists “I want you so much, I just can’t resist you, it’s not enough to say that I miss you.” He clears his throat and tries to think of something to say when Jean speaks instead. 

“How was the party?”

“It was good,” Marco slides a little bit closer to Jean so they can hear one another better over the music. “A little bit awkward for a while because Armin really needs to tell Eren he’s with Annie, but that was actually before everything started, so by the time everyone got there it was fine, and Eren’s actually a really good baker. Oh, and Mikasa said Erwin’s coming by the store this week, so Levi will probably start freaking out once he stops being sick…” he cuts himself off abruptly. “...sorry. I’m rambling.”

Jean considers him for a moment; Marco shifts, takes a long sip of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I asked, didn’t I.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, setting down the bottle to fiddle with his tie. Apparently he loosened it a while back, although he doesn’t remember doing it. 

“You always seem to think I’m going to get tired of you talking.”

“That first night,” Marco finds himself saying, “In the car, I was trying to tell you about...us, about the store, and you said you didn’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah, and then the other night I begged for your life story.” Jean fishes an ice cube out of his drink and sucks on it. “Sho whag?”

“You’re so…...mercurial.”

“What a five dollar word.” The ice is a lump inside Jean’s cheek, and it’s almost obscene when he thinks about what else might push the other man’s mouth into that position. Marco has to look away. “I was thinking about that on the drive, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I talked some shit over with Jessica. She’s a great listener. Teresa not so much.”

“Do you always travel with gerbils?”

“I was gonna be gone for a few days, I couldn’t just leave them here.” Jean gives him a withering glare. “They can’t fucking feed themselves, they’re spoiled little brats with no thumbs. And I wasn’t gonna ask anyone at work just out of the blue, like, ‘hey, you may or may not think I can go suck a fuck, but do you want to watch my pets?’”

“You could have asked me,” Marco blurts, tracing his thumb around the lip of his beer bottle. 

Jean is quiet for a moment, then nods. 

“Yeah. Maybe next time.”

“I’d...I’d be happy to listen too. I mean...you know, I’m sure Jessica really is a good listener, but she probably doesn’t have a lot to say back. Probably.”

Jean seems to hesitate, then bites down on the ice, chewing and swallowing before asking, “Do you want to listen?”

“Yeah,” Marco breathes, finally raising his eyes again. “I do.”

Jean considers for a moment, raising his thumb to his mouth, biting the pad for a moment.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His eyes slide over to Marco’s; he can feel every freckle as those sharp eyes pass over them. “Right now, though, I’m gonna make you talk a little more.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Explain that,” he points down at where Reiner and Bert are dancing side by side, doing what was known in 1999 as “the sprinkler” and now is known as “oh my god please stop.”

Marco laughs.

“What’s there to explain? I think they’re a little gone right now.”

“Tell me something about them I don’t know.”

“Huh?” It throws him for a moment.

“That night,” Jean hedges a little, "The one you were just talking about, in the car, when you started to tell me things. About our coworkers. About...your friends. Tell me now. Something I wouldn’t know from work.”

Marco stares at him for a moment, then slides a little closer, smiling. 

“All right. Well….Bert went ABD in physics, but before that in college, he and Ymir met because they were in the same music theory class. When he’s really drunk, he smokes and makes people listen to his record collection.”

Jean snorts.

“I have a hard time imagining him smoking.”

“I’ve seen it happen.”

“And Rrrrreeeeeiner?” Jean makes sure to draw his name out. 

“Reiner wrote his dissertation on Virginia Woolf.”

Jean spits his current mouthful of soda back into the glass. “What?!”

“Mmhmm,” Marco nods happily, “You haven't seen it cuz he's been wearing long sleeves, but he has quote from ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ tattooed on his arm. Something like ‘first the hour, a warning, then…’”

“First a warning, musical; then the hour, irrevocable.” Jean corrects. “The leaden circles dissolved in the air.”

Marco stares. He has never been so turned on by Virginia Woolf in his life; the blood rushes into his crotch so fast he feels lightheaded. He leans even closer toward Jean, feeling breathless.

“Y-yeah. That’s the one.”

Jean nods, not reacting to Marco’s closeness either way.

“Not bad. I never would have guessed.” He points at Annie. “And Annie?”

“Uhhh…” Marco struggles to come up with something now that his thought capacity has thoroughly diminished. “Annie went to a ballet academy in New York for a while. She was thrown out for getting into too many fights. Now she does tae kwon do.”

“She’s graceful,” Jean cocks his head to the side, “In a really terrifying way.”

“I know, right.”

Sasha and Connie tango violently past her, their laughter audible even over the crowd and the music.

“Those two?”

“Er, welllll....Sasha’s a runner? Connie bikes along to time her and hold her water and stuff. She did her first half marathon last November, she’s hoping to do a full one this fall. And Connie used to do freelance graphic design, that’s what he has a degree in.”

“Cool.”

Marco takes the initiative now. 

“Eren seems like he would have been a jock, right?”

Jean scowls. 

“Yeah, probably.”

“Nope. He did theater in high school.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Uh-uh.” Marco beams. “He was all about the drama club. Him and Armin, and Mikasa was in the pit orchestra because she plays about a dozen instruments. Okay maybe only three, but.”

“Jaeger. Singing...showtunes.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t know if that makes me want to laugh or punch him just on principle.” Jean’s eyes slide toward Mikasa, and Marco has the urge to grab his chin and turn it back to him. “Mikasa looks happy tonight. More than I’ve ever seen her.”

“Yeah,” Marco closes his eyes, willing himself not to feel suddenly bitter at someone he’s spent the day celebrating, “Eren and Armin went all out for her.”

“They come as a set, don’t they.”

Marco chews his lip for a moment, then slides the final few inches so his side and Jean’s are touching. Jean stiffens noticeably, but he doesn’t move away. 

“If you promise to keep this on the DL-”

“Ammunition against Jaeger? More than him being a kid from ‘Fame?’”

“I’m serious, Jean.” Marco frowns. “Eren’s mom died when he was ten. Mikasa was already living with them, because something really terrible happened to her parents.” He hold up his hand when Jean opens his mouth. “I don’t know what. She doesn’t talk about it, none of them do. And I’m not going to ask. But she was sort of adopted into their family, and then Eren’s mom died, and shortly after his dad just up and left. They lived with Armin and his grandfather until Armin’s grandfather passed away in high school-”

“Jesus Christ, this is like a Lifetime movie!”

“-and since then, they’ve kind of been out on their own. They put themselves through school with Armin’s inheritance and various odd jobs. None of them have gone without working somewhere since they were 16. Armin does their finances, Mikasa keeps them on the straight and narrow and Eren...Eren would walk through fire for them.” He shrugs. “So yeah, they are a set.”

Jean is silent for a while, before sipping his soda and then musing, “That’s pretty impressive.” He glances at Marco. “I still don’t have to like him, though.”

Marco snickers. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

"It must be nice, though, to have someone in your life like that." Jean downs the rest of his drink, then sets the empty glass on the table, stretching. There’s that flash of stomach again under his shirt and Marco only barely keeps his hands to himself. “Well. Maybe next year I’ll get invited to the party too.”

Marco nearly does a double take at the first part of Jean's comment, but the moment is gone so fast he has to grab for something else. “You and the gerbils.”

“There you go again,” Jean’s gaze is steady; Marco can feel his whole body heat up. “You seem kind of fixated on them. Maybe you should get some of your own?”

“I’d like to just meet yours,” he blunders out, and Jean raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Well...I suppose as my friend, you are entitled to an audience with my ladies.” He inclines his head toward Marco, his expression nothing short of saucy. “If you want.”

He can barely breathe. Jean is so close now, if he leaned forward even a little more...

“Really?”

“If you wanted to hang out some night this week,” He can nearly taste the words, it would just take another five inches... “We could-”

“Here you are!” 

Marco starts, nearly sliding off the bench as Christa plunks down next to him. She’s flushed and sweaty from dancing and drinking, but somehow that only makes her more attractive. 

“Hi Christa,” disappointment sulks into his voice. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“You must be Jean!” She extends her hand across Marco’s chest and Jean takes it almost shyly. “I’m Christa! I’m Ymir’s girlfriend, I’ve heard so much about you!”

Jean starts to scowl, then aborts it halfway through to force a reasonable facsimile of a smile.

“I uh...hope you haven’t heard everything from her?”

“No no, Marco talks about you all the time, he’s very fond of you, he’s so glad you came to work at the store!”

“Wow, Christa,” Marco knows he had been a second away from trying to kiss Jean, but the idea of Christa actually telling him about his feelings is somehow too much. “Let’s get you some water!”

“I’m fine!” She giggles. “I just want to know all about this boy who-”

“THE PARTY IS UP HERE NOW?!” Eren, intoxicated long past the point of having any kind volume control, has now joined the group, nearly falling headfirst into Christa’s lap as he sits down. “MarcoOOoo, Armin is TOO busy dancing with Annie that he won’t dance with me what’s UP with that?” He registers Jean’s presence and wrinkles his nose. “Oh so you made it I guess that’s great if it makes Marco happy, Marco are you happy?”

 _I was happy,_ he thinks, _now I’m about to jump off this balcony._

“Nice to see you too,” Jean sneers, but Eren has already moved on, patting Christa’s hair like she’s some kind of ethereal bunny. 

“Christa you’re so pretty tonight, you’re like Armin when we were in that play that time and he was Sarah Brown and he was sooo pretty but I never told him? What’s up with that also?”

“Okay,” Marco stands up, certain that he can now be considered half of the sober contingent in this row of seats. “Come on Eren, it’s time to get you some water.” He grabs Eren’s arm and pulls him to his feet, starting a little when the shorter man throws his arms around Marco’s waist and presses his face into his chest. 

“Then will YOU dance with me? Pleeeeeease Marco?”

“Ooh, let’s all dance!” Christa latches onto Marco from other other side. He stumbles a little, sighs, and looks back at Jean. 

“You feel like dancing?”

“I’m not really the dancing type.” Jean is pulling his hat back on, “And honestly I’m kind of wiped from the drive. I think I’m gonna head out.”

Marco can hear his libido crashing to earth and screams internally, but he nods. 

“Yeah, I understand.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow though,” Jean says, pointedly not looking at him, “About hanging out. If you want.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Marco tries to keep his voice even while attempting to pry Eren off of him; it’s no good, he’s stuck like a limpet, half-murmuring, half-singing “just dance, it’ll be okay” into Marco’s tie.

“I’ll talk to you then. Good luck with those two.”

“Good night, Jean,” Marco says for the third evening in a row.

“Night, Marco,” he responds with a slight smile, starting down the stairs before turning back. "By the way," he tugs on one of the flaps of his hat, expression unreadable, "....you look good tonight. The dressed up look suits you." And then he’s gone. 

Marco is frozen in place for a moment. He’s excited, he’s so in love, he wants to hold onto that compliment and turn it over and over in his mind like a precious stone of words... He’s got two people wiggling like deranged weasels on either side of him. 

“Sorry I made you not have like all the sex with assbutt, I just want to dance with somebody.”

Marco tries to sort out that sentence, then rolls his eyes and pats Eren’s hair. “Don’t worry, about it. But I am going to make you two drink so much water now.”

“But then dancing, right?” Christa squeezes his waist with surprising strength. He gasps out a laugh.

“Yes, yes, then dancing, you win!”

"Oooh, I wanna dance with somebody!" Eren starts, then Christa joins to chorus, "WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME!"

Marco may love them, but he'd rather dance with Jean. He’d rather have stayed up here all night just sitting next to Jean, talking about everything and nothing. But, he supposes, there are worse fates than being manhandled down the stairs by his drunk friends. 

“I’m in love all right, with my crazy beautiful life,” Ke$ha suggests over the speakers as they arrive back on the dance floor. "With the parties, the disasters, with my friends all pretty and plastered." 

Things could be better, but the words feel true, and Marco thinks over Eren’s question from upstairs... and it turns out that when he thinks through it, he _is_ happy. Now if he could just make Jean happy, if he could be the person Jean was wishing for in a half-hidden comment... he can't imagine he would ever stop smiling as broadly as Mikasa in that photograph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should have gotten a snack.
> 
> Yup, always talkin' about food down here. 
> 
> My original end note seems to have disappeared from these later chapters, so uh...just in case anyone wants to stop by and discuss stupid babies that need the most attention, or the fine art of lying on the floor, come visit me [on tumblr.](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco has finally gained entry into Jean's home and psyche. It goes as well as expected: completely differently than anything he'd anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's officially summer! This fic has over 6000 hits and I'm still on cloud nine about it. I never imagined that anyone who doesn't like...regularly come to my house to have dinner would read it and just...have I thanked you all enough yet? I don't know that I ever could. Thanks also to everyone who's contacted me on tumblr - I'm sorry I'm so slow to respond, I promise I read over everything like five times. My past week and a half at work been bonkers, and it turns out I have to do stupid things like eat and sleep, so my web times have been limited. But THANK YOU. FIFTY TIMES. Also how did this chapter get so long. I mean seriously. 
> 
> Thanks also to my support squad: [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who might rescue me with fries later; Heichousqaud [Tori](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriColourBastia/pseuds/ToriColourBastia) and [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) who are so patient with my endless wailing, and [Monkeysocks,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) who has been admirably putting up with a lot of emails written all in caps lock and sent in the middle of the night.

Seven texts in short succession finally prove enough to wake Marco up. God, everything is sore, and he realizes with some dismay that while he managed to take his shirt off before falling into bed, he’s somehow still wearing his tie.

Yawning hugely, he rubs a hand through his hair and checks his phone.

**> >From: Jean  
marco**

A text from Jean first thing in the morning? This is fantastic. He smiles.

**> >From: Jean  
jesus marco where the fuck are you**

Jean misses him! That’s so cool. He keeps scrolling.

**> >From: Connie  
marco are you still asleep get up get up**

**> >From: Jean  
dumbass you were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago**

….Marco is suddenly considerably less thrilled with these texts.

**> >From: Connie  
hanji’s in not levi but seriously you need to get up and get here PROM TO**

**> >From: Connie  
PRONTO fuck you autocorrect**

**> >From: Jean  
if i get in trouble for texting you again because you couldnt get the hell out of bed i am gonna-**

Marco doesn’t even finish reading the last text. He flails out of bed and to his closet, nearly garroting himself with his tie as he attempts to drag it off. He grabs a shirt off a hanger and pants off the floor. He’s still wearing last night’s socks as he shoves his feet into his shoes, swings on his coat, bolts out the door. There’s a patch of ice near his car that sends him skidding, banging his knee firmly into the front bumper. It throbs every time he hits the brake, which isn’t nearly often enough - he’s sure he’s at least 20 miles over the speed limit the entire drive to work.

When he limp-jogs in the door, he’s met by Connie dramatically sagging over the counter.

“Oh thank GOD! I thought you might be dead!”

“I wasn’t even that drunk,” Marco says darkly as he swings through the “employees only” door directly into Jean. “GAH!!”

“SHIT!” Jean stumbles backwards, hand to his shoulder. He hits a box with his leg and starts to tumble backwards.

Marco reaches out and before he can truly process it, Jean is clasped tightly to his chest, breathing raggedly near his ear.

“Oh, Marco, is that you?” Hanji’s voice emerges from the office.

Marco can’t answer. He’s too busy staring at Jean who is staring back at him, still wrapped protectively in Marco’s arms.

“Uh...” Jean says, the whites of his eyes huge.

“You okay?” Marco’s voice is a throaty whisper.

Jean nods, looking increasingly uncomfortable. It’s past time Marco should pull away. Jean is definitely steady now. But the way he fits against Marco is so perfect, they match so well...

“Honestly,” Hanji pops up next to him and he’s so startled that he abruptly lets go of Jean. “The two of you are so dramatic all the time.”

Jean is flushed now, looking away as he rubs the sore spot left by the door.

“Sorry,” he mumbles to neither of them in particular.

“Glad you could make it to work, Marco,” Hanji peers at him over her glasses, mouth set in a dangerous smirk. “Have fun at the party last night?”

“I’m so sorry,” he shrugs out of his coat, digging in the pocket for his dogtag. “I must’ve turned my alarms off, I-”

Hanji waves her hand dismissively.

“Since you filled in for Levi the other day, I’m gonna say you had trouble with your car starting and that you called in so you won’t get written up for it. This time.”

Marco sighs in relief, and drops his head.

“Thank you, Hanji, I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“Of course not. But actually, would you mind doing me a favor? There’s a whole two bins of kids to shelve, and I noticed the other day that everything is super out of order in that section. Would you mind terribly fixing it up? Erwin’s coming by this week, and you know Levi gets about that…”

Her grin is almost feral. Marco swallows back a groan. The kids section is a nonstop disaster area on wheels - it’s been unofficially voted “the corner most likely to cause a psychological breakdown” among the staff. The only one who seems to really enjoy doing it is Sasha (Marco thinks that’s probably because it gives her and Connie first dibs on whatever stuffed animals arrive in shipment), and if Connie is here that means Sasha must be around somewhere… but Marco’s not going to argue. He’s brought this on himself and he knows it.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiles weakly, “Let me just toss my coat in back.”

To his surprise, Jean follows him down the short hallway. Marco can’t help looking at him fondly, still warm where Jean had been pressed against him.

“Connie was worried,” Jean says, arms folded across his chest as Marco unlocks the breakroom. “So I said I’d text you.”

“Connie texted me on his own, though,” Marco pushes through the door, noticing a large pile of coats taking up the couch.

“Well he...it...tandem effort,” Jean looks very put out, cheeks still pink. “Maybe I was worried too, I dunno, you’re usually such a golden boy.”

“You keep saying that, and I keep telling you, it’s not true.” Marco gestures to himself. “Obviously, if I couldn’t get up this morning. And I don't even have a hangover as an excuse.”

Jean shrugs and leans against the counter, watching Marco hang up his coat.

“...did you stay a lot longer after I left?”

Marco hums, rubbing a finger under his nose as he thinks back.

“...honestly? I lost track of time. I think I got home around 3, maybe...4? I know Armin offered to let me crash at their place, but I guess I thought I’d have trouble getting up if I stayed there.” He smiles sheepishly. “Joke’s on me, huh.”

“Seems like you guys had a good time, though.”

“Yeah, it was a nice night,” Marco looks at Jean, wishing he’d been there for more of it, for all of it. Wishing he’d stayed and they could have driven home together, even if all they’d done was curl up and go to sleep.

“Cool.”

A dark moan comes from under the mass on the couch and they both jump. The hood of Connie’s blue parka is raised enough so that Sasha can peer out blearily.

“Shhhh, it’s nap time back here.”

“Sasha!” Marco huffs a laugh, “Does Hanji know you’re under there?”

“I’m on breeeeaaak,” she shifts under her makeshift coverings. “We didn’t get home til so late that we were like ‘we have to get up soon, why bother going to bed?’” The hood drops down to cover her face again. “We were so young, then. So foolish.”

“Yeah, those distant ten hours ago.” Jean snorts.

Her hand reemerges to flip him off.

“Come on,” Marco reaches out, putting his hand on Jean’s arm and feeling a thrill of pleasure when the other man doesn’t completely tense up. “I should get started on my penance and you should probably be at intake.”

“Ugh,” Jean sighs as Marco grabs a cart, “It’s been super quiet and all the good shit has been priced. I’m bored.”

“I wish I could keep you company,” Marco opens the door carefully this time, then reaches back to hold it for Jean.

“I do too,” Jean says quietly, and Marco runs over his own foot with the cart.

“O-oh?”

Jean doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“I said I’d text you, but for some reason I blanked that you’d be working today. Did you still want to hang out some night this week?”

 _I want to hang out every night this week and probably forever,_ Marco doesn’t say, instead going with, “Yeah, I’d love to. Anytime, really, I’m pretty open.”

“Cool,” Jean rubs the short hair of his undercut as they reach intake, “...what are you doing tonight, then?”

Marco smacks his hip on the corner of the counter. At this rate, he’ll be a walking bruise by the end of the day.

“N-nothing!”

“Nothing other than walking into inanimate objects?”

“I promise I don’t enjoy it as much as it seems,” he winces and rubs his hip, not failing to notice Jean’s eyes trailing down to follow his hand. His heart speeds up a little. “Did you want to get something to eat, or go out, or….?”

“I think we covered the ‘going out’ part last night,” Jean quickly looks away, hunching into his hoodie. “If you wanted to come over and just hang out or something… we could watch a movie. Get a pizza.”

Marco considers it a minor miracle that he doesn’t faint, what with how hard his heart is pounding and how hard his dick is getting. He’s also proud of himself for not shouting “YES!” but replying “I’d really like that” like a normal person might.

Jean raises an eyebrow at him, then does that weird little half-smile that makes him look like a sexy douchebag.

“Come over when you’re done with work, then. I-” he’s cut off as a customer laden with grocery bags approaches the counter. “Er, hi, stuff you wanna sell?”

“Just a few books,” the woman sets down the bag and a few well-read Nora Roberts paperbacks fall out. Jean’s eye twitches. “I have some more in the car.”

“Did you need help bringing them in?”

“No, I’ve got it,” she goes back out the door and Jean looks at Marco, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Hey,” Marco smiles, “Nora Roberts is cool. Stephen King says so.”

Jean raises an eyebrow and Marco fishes around the in paperback bin until he comes up with the right book. He hands it to Jean, who turns it over - the back cover is a picture of the author herself in a black business suit; above her is a quote by Stephen King that actually does read: “Nora Roberts is cool.”

“...that’s the whole quote?” Jean makes a face. “This is the worst recommendation I’ve ever seen.”

“Have fun!” Marco chirps, then ducks as Jean chucks the book back at him.

“Go shelve in kids before I uninvite you.”

“Aww, Jean, you wouldn’t do that. You’d regret it.”

He’s pulling out an armload of books, but he thinks he can hear Jean say “Yeah, I would,” just before the woman returns with still more romance novels.

Marco has never enjoyed shelving kids more.

-

Eren and Bert arrive together around noon, both considerably worse for wear.

“Wow,” Connie regards them, “If it isn’t the original odd couple. You know if there are two people I never expected to see come into work together-”

“Both Reiner and I were too out of it to drive so we crashed at their place last night,” Bert mumbles, holding a giant cup of coffee about an inch from his face, “Never again.”

“Look I’m sorry I snore, okay?”

“You snore so loudly it’s probably unhealthy. You also sleep-yell.”

“Yeah, well, you like...sleep with your face in Reiner’s butt, so I wouldn’t judge.”

“Do you know how hard it is to fit two grown men on your couch?”

“Armin and I both sleep on the couch all the time!”

“....”

“...are you fucking suggesting we’re not grown men? Are you, beanpole?”

“Why would I ever suggest that someone who swears on the floor of his job is anything less than an adult?” Bert drinks his coffee in long, slow sips. Bert is caustic when hungover, and Marco -listening from where he’s been marking down a few things- is tempted to jump in and stop whatever altercation is about to break out when Levi does it by his sheer presence alone.

He looks haggard as well, pale from being ill, but the fire is back in his eyes as he regards his employees.

“It’s a sad day when Springer looks more like a model employee than the rest of you.”

“I will take that as a compliment, sir!” Considering what Sasha said about them not sleeping, Connie’s energy is impressive (although the cans of Red Bull slowly filling the recycling bin behind the register might account for some of it).

“Jaeger,” Levi walks over to him, “You and Fubar having some sort of complication?”

“No sir,” Eren is uncharacteristically less than enthusiastic to talk to Levi. Bert, meanwhile, looks too tired to even sweat nervously.

“Right. Then let’s get to work. Erwin’s coming this week, and if he finds anything even slightly out of place, the phrase ‘the sound and the fury’ won’t begin to cover my wrath.”

Eren trudges after him, pausing to shoot Jean (who is making faces at him) a dirty look, and patting Marco on the arm. Bert stands in place a few minutes more, drinking his coffee like it’s taking every bit of his concentration, before Connie wanders over to him.

“Did he just threaten us with weapons-grade Faulkner?”

“Something like that,” Jean mutters over the cds he’s checking for condition, “I guess it’s brutal if you’re not into southern gothic stream of consciousness.”

“If I want stream of consciousness, I’d prefer Joyce,” Bert sighs.

“Are you kidding me?” Jean scowls. “I’d rather be repeatedly hit in the face with ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ than ever have to read it.”

“If you’re serious, that can be arranged.”

“Shut up, Connie.”

“I’m not going to argue about literature,” Bert says evenly, making his way to the back, “I get enough of this at home between Reiner and Annie.”

“Do you really hate Joyce?” Marco can’t help putting down his clearance and leaning on the counter. Jean nods. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason? Guy was a jerk.”

“Have you ever even read him? What about ‘Ulysses?’”

“Ulysses? I hardly know her!”

Jean flings a pen at Connie, who laughs as it bounces off a display of notepads next to him.

“Look, just because I work in a bookstore doesn’t mean I have to read all the ‘classics.’ Some things that are considered ‘classic’ actually blow.”

“I know, but you like Faulkner, apparently.”

“So? Does that mean I automatically like Dickens because in ninth grade they made us read ‘Great Expectations?’ How many copies of shit like ‘Bleak House’ do we actually sell?”

“Kids love ‘Bleak House!’ It’s the new ‘Hunger Games.’”

“Shut UP, Connie!”

Marco frowns, wondering if their date, no, _evening engagement_ is about to be canceled, but he can’t bring himself to stop from pressing a little further. It’s fascinating to watch Jean react, and to realize how much he likes to push Jean’s book buttons.

“I’m just wondering what Joyce did to earn your ire. Honestly I didn’t care much for ‘Dubliners’ when I had to read it for a writing class, but-”

“Hitch and Marlowe fucking loved Joyce, okay? And it was fucking annoying!” Jean slams down the cd he’s looking at and glares at Marco.

Marco blinks.

“...who are Hitch and Marlowe?”

Jean freezes. Honestly freezes in place, not so much a deer in the headlights as deer in front of a blazing mack truck. He looks ill. He looks sad. He picks up the cd again, checking it over with shaking hands.

“No one,” he says hoarsely. “No one at all.”

Marco stands there, waiting for Jean to say something else, but he continues with his work, finally walking over to call the customer up and make the offer. Once it’s accepted, and he’s loading the cds into a flat, Marco tries again.

“Jean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps.

Marco furrows his brow. Now that’s just not fair. He’s about to open his mouth and make a catty remark about how wait, he might actually have something else to do tonight after all, when Jean looks up at him guiltily.

“...I don’t want to talk about it here, at least, okay?” He runs his finger across the edge of the cardboard box; Marco wonders if might be part of the pile that fell on him. “Will you still come over later? I’ll….I’ll tell you then, okay? Just not right now.”

Marco immediately feels bad, dropping his eyes to his feet.

“Yeah. If you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Nah,” Jean shrugs with one shoulder, then winces. “Maybe an ice pack for this shoulder you bruised with the door earlier.”

“Dr. Bodt will be around to call on your after his office hours are over, then.”

“I’m sure Dr. Bodt has a wonderful bedside manner.”

“Dr. Bodt has a wonderful IN-BED manner!” Connie calls, obviously having watched the entire conversation. “Probably!”

Marco flushes. Jean, equally red, looks away.

“I gotta go back to shelving,” Marco says, feeling stupid.

“Okay.” Jean says, nodding like an idiot.

“If I don’t see you again, I’ll be at your house to get off.” He blanches. “When I get off. When I get off!”

“Oh my god, just go shelve!” Jean nearly shrieks ducking back behind the pricing computer, flinging random books on the counter to price.

The rest of the afternoon flies by, even as the names “Hitch” and “Marlowe” are never far from Marco’s thoughts.

-

This is it, his hand, Jean’s door.

Marco takes a deep breath as he raises his fist to knock, trying not to make a big deal out of how huge this moment feels. The last time he stood on this stoop he and Jean were nothing like friends - now he’s wondering if it’s actually in the realm of possibility that they become something even more. _Friends to lovers,_ he thinks, which sounds so corny but so right.

He’s barely done knocking before Jean opens the door. His hair is wet and slicked back - _did he shower for me?!_ Marco tries to stifle the thought- and he’s wearing a dark gray cowl neck sweater that bares his throat in a way that should probably be illegal. Marco swallows hard, using every bit of his brainpower to try to focus on usual not-completely-and-utterly-sexual human interaction.

“Hey. Hi.”

Jean peers at him.

“Is it too much?”

“Huh?”

“The sweater. My mom was like in love with it, but I can’t decide if it looks stupid or not.”

“Uhhhhh,” Marco says helpfully, cataloguing all the places on Jean’s neck he’d like to pet with his teeth. “You’re good.”

“....I’m good?”

“That’s what I said.” He smiles hopefully, wrenching his thoughts back into neutral territory so that this evening doesn’t turn into one long case of blue balls. “Can I come in?”

“I suppose,” Jean rolls his eyes dramatically, “Even though I usually watch all my movies outside in the middle of winter.”

He steps aside and Marco crosses the threshold into what was once a forbidden realm...to find himself staring at a nearly empty room.

There’s a flat screen TV on a stand. There’s a small shelf with movies and an ipod dock. There’s a couch. A floor lamp. All of it looks brand new and high end, and yet... It’s very off, somehow.

He takes off his coat slowly, trying to figure out if he’s missing something.

A doorway to the left opens into the equally uninspired kitchen. On the far side of the room is a tiny hallway that leads to a bathroom at one end (pale yellow tile, a wet red towel hanging off the doorknob), and a closed door at the other. There’s some bags from high end clothiers against the wall, one that looks crumpled enough to be what Jean pulled his sweater from. And that’s it.

But...really? Nothing else? Marco knows he lives in a relatively spartan home, but even he has some posters on the walls. Pictures of his parents and Ymir. Some random thrift-store paintings. Even Eren, Armin and Mikasa’s home full of boxes had more life that this.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until Jean clears his throat.

“What, have you never seen an apartment before?”

“No no no!” Marco waves his hands frantically, which mostly has the effect of flapping his coat in Jean’s direction. “I just! From what you were saying the other night, I was expecting...I…”

Jean scowls, folding his arms across his chest.

“You though maybe everything I owned would be covered in gold?”

“No, god, I-” Marco rubs his forehead distractedly. “I guess I just thought it would look more...more…”

“Like I’m rich?”

Marco nods miserably, wishing he could come in again and start over, all this forgotten. Jean looks around at his own apartment and gives that half shrug.

“Now you know my terrible secret. My apartment sucks as much as I do.” Marco laughs weakly, and is about to suggest he leave to go die in a fucking hole when Jean sighs, looking down at his own bare feet. “I kinda was trying to make a new start. I left Trost as soon as I got the transfer, didn’t really feel like dragging my old shit around.” He slides his eyes sideways to Marco. “That make sense?”

“Yeah,” Marco starts to breathe a little more easily, “It does.”

Jean looks around another moment, then laughs softly.

“It is lame, though, isn’t it. I spend so much time in the bedroom that it’s a wonder I even fucking have furniture out here.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jean starts padding towards the closed door, “You call me out on my shit and you’re always right. I’m getting used to it. Come on, though, you gotta pass the real test if you want to stay for dinner.”

Marco follows sheepishly, and Jean opens the door to his bedroom.

“Hey honeys,” he coos in a voice that sends a punch of lust directly into Marco’s gut. He didn’t even know Jean could sound like that. “Wakey wakey, time to be the judgemental little bitches I know you are.”

He’s immediately hit by the smell of the room - it’s like Jean squared, and he takes a deep breath. Fresh linen-scented detergent, that same off-brand deodorant, a little bit of pine shavings and a little bit of what he can only think of as “boy.” It shouldn’t be intoxicating. It absolutely is.

Jean’s room is almost the warmest place in the apartment, and not just in temperature. The bedside lamp casts a golden glow on a worn navy blue comforter. It’s a large bed, at least a queen, and there’s an inordinate amount of pillows for one person. In here there are bookshelves with books that look not only used but loved, and the closet door is cracked open, revealing a collection of nice sweaters, shirts, and slacks, and an even larger assortment of hoodies. On the floor are more books, stray socks, some weights that look like they haven’t been moved since Jean put them there. Something that looks like a deflated fox is wadded into one corner. At the foot of the bed is an antique dresser with another TV perched on it, this one surrounded by DVD cases.

And against the last wall resides what is less a cage than a veritable gerbil palace.

It’s a standard aquarium, the kind Marco has always seen in pet stores, but with another wire cage carefully attached to the top. Three little platforms connected by ramps give it a “multi-story” illusion. The uppermost floor has food dishes, the second has a wheel affixed to the side of the cage, and the bottom floor is covered in shavings, half-chewed toilet paper tubes, and a tiny wooden house covered in little teethmarks.

Marco is caught between describing it as “pretentious” and “precious,” so he goes with “Wow,” as Jean walks over to it, opening the top and reaching in.

“Come on,” he says, the lilt in his voice as hot as it is adorable, but the impression quickly ruined by him muttering, “Ungrateful jerks, who’s your fucking daddy, come on, you’re making me look bad.”

Marco bites down on a laugh, then watches as a tiny, twitchy nose appears from the little house. The creature quickly bounds up the ramps and sniffs at Jean’s hand, then jumps in, and, satisfied, he curls his fingers around it and carefully raises it out of the cage. He shuts the lid before turning to Marco, both hands now cupped around his pet.

“Jessica, this is Marco.” He holds the gerbil up to Marco’s chest.

“Hi Jessica,” Marco smiles warmly, and extends a finger to the animal. He glances up at Jean. “Does she know who I am?”

“I might have mentioned you once or twice,” Jean’s voice is sheepish, and he refuses to meet Marco’s eyes.

Marco feels his cheeks hurt as his grin widens.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He pats the gerbil’s head softly. “You’re very cute.”

“Cute?” Jean sniffs, “Bitch is a queen. She’s fucking regal, all right.”

“Of course,” Marco strokes her fluttering whiskers. “Very regal.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

“Huh?” Marco freezes.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jean repeats, then, before Marco can answer, balances Jessica in one hand and reaches to grab one of Marco’s with the other. “Hold your hand like this, don’t squish her and don’t fucking drop her.”

He manages to sputter out “But I…!” before the gerbil is in his hand, peering up at him with shiny black eyes. He quickly claps his other hand around the first as Jean had done. She’s warm and furry, he can feel her quick breaths and her tiny pulse against his skin. He’s struck by how fragile she is, how frightening it must feel to be entrusted to a stranger. When he looks up at Jean to make sure he’s holding her right, and sees the other man biting his lip with a hint of blush on his cheek, it hits him like a sledgehammer. This is something so important to Jean he swore Marco to secrecy over it. _This,_ he thinks, wondering if he’s maybe reading into things too much but unable to help himself, _is a little like holding Jean’s heart._

“I guess she likes you,” Jean says after what seems like a thousand years.

“Yeah?” Marco feels lightheaded, that thrilling dizziness that so often seems to happen around the rare quiet moments with Jean. “How can you tell?”

“Well she’s not biting the shit out of you,” Jean turns back to the cage, thankfully missing that Marco nearly fumbles the gerbil at that. “She bit Jac within two seconds of meeting her, it was pretty much the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He returns to Marco with the other gerbil, letting this one wander across his palms as he switches hand over hand. “Teresa’s a lot more jumpy, I think she’s younger.” He glances up at Marco shyly. “Do you like them?”

“Yeah,” Marco raises Jessica to look her directly in the eyes, “I do. I’ve never spent a lot of time with small animals, but I can kind of start to see the appeal.”

Jessica peers back into him, and he finds himself thinking _I promise I’ll be good to him, you can trust me_ as hard as he can at her. He’s never considered rodent telepathy before, but for Jean, he’s willing to try.

“Man, you’re like some kind of gerbil whisperer,” Jean is very close to him now.

“Who knew, huh?” There’s that five inches between their lips again. Would it be weird to kiss him right now? Would it even matter if it was?

“Anyway,” Jean clears his throat suddenly, “It looks like you passed the test, and I’m getting hungry, you wanna order that pizza?”

“Um, yeah,” Marco watches as Jean sets Teresa on his shoulder, then reaches out to take Jessica from him, hands wrapping around Marco’s and sending sparks shooting up his arms at the touch.

Jean walks back to the cage, setting Jessica in carefully then leaning down slightly so Teresa can jump off his shoulder. He shuts the lid and turns to Marco.

“I swear to god, though, you want something like jalapenos on it, you can get the fuck out of my house right now.”

“No, no!” Marco laughs awkwardly, rubbing his hands together, missing the fuzzy warmth and the roughness of Jean’s dry skin, “I actually...I really like pineapple.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He waits for Jean to make a face, or imitate gagging sounds like Ymir has for so many years.

“That’s fucking awesome, I love pineapple. Let’s do it.”

Marco chokes, but tries to pass it off as coughing. Jean regards him strangely.

“...swallowed wrong. Pizza?”

“Pizza,” Jean agrees, and leads him out of the bedroom.

-

Over the course of “Ghostbusters,” they kill a 2 liter of coke, a large pizza, and an order of fried ravioli. They sit on opposite edges of the couch, boxes balanced classily between them, and take turns making little side comments at the movie. It’s mostly comfortable, although Marco can feel an odd air of hesitation between them.

“Do you want the last ravioli?” he asks, pushing the box towards Jean.

“God, no,” Jean covers a burp, “I think I’d explode.”

“It’s so lonely, though.”

“You eat it, then. Take one for the team.”

“As you wish,” he says, realizing as he’s chewing that if Jean has ever seen “The Princess Bride” he's just said something very telling, but Jean seems more occupied with tugging at the sleeves of his sweater.

“I don’t think I’m gonna wear this to work. I can just see someone calling me out on being some kind of yuppie hipster hybrid.”

“You really think that?” Marco frowns, closing the now-empty pizza box and moving it to the floor. “You know us better than that by now.”

“I don’t trust Jaeger not to say something like ‘did your mommy dress you?’”

“...but she did, didn’t she?”

“And that’s why it would fucking suck!” Jean rolls his eyes. “So you see my dilemma.”

“Are you going to wear any of the clothes in those bags?” Marco nods toward the end of the room. “Or are you afraid that Eren might use more grade school insults on you?”

Jean huddles deeper into the corner of the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“...after what you told me last night. About him. About them. It’d feel pretty shitty to go into work wearing nice clothes my mother bought me because I was too busy being an asshole to celebrate her birthday like a decent son.” He reaches back, feeling for a hood, and sighs when he remembers there isn’t one there. “And then I remember you don’t have a mom either and-”

“Jean, stop.” The words sound stern, and Jean looks at him in surprise. He’s surprised himself, actually, but he remembers Jean saying that Marco “calls him on his shit,” and now seems to be one of those times. “My mom died a long time ago. I survived it. I had plenty of nice things and I get all my dress clothes for free from my dad because of his business. So does Ymir. Who cares? You really think Eren would tease you because of something your mother bought you? I think he’d call you an ass if you didn’t wear it. Because obviously buying you clothes is something that made her happy, and if there’s anyone who could understand wanting to please your mom, it’s him.”

Jean seems to get even smaller, glancing over at Marco with an unreadable expression.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

“Tired of what?”

“Being right all the time. Being so fucking reasonable. Knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.”

Marco groans, leaning his head back against the couch.

“For god’s sake, Jean, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not some...pinnacle of greatness. I get mad. I say stupid things. I make mistakes. I just...it makes more sense to find a way to fix what you’ve messed up and get past it, rather than just running through it over and over, don’t you think?”

Jean has gone very still, staring at the bags of clothes with his jaw set in a sharp pout.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy,” Marco slides just the slightest bit closer on the couch, pleased when Jean doesn’t try to climb over the arm away from him. “It’s just...what you have to do, you know? Go big or go home?”

Jean laughs bitterly at that, picking up his glass and taking a long swallow of soda.

“You can’t go home again. Especially if it stopped being home a long time before that.”

Marco wants to reach out for him; he makes his hands stay firmly in his own lap.

“...is this about Hitch and Marlowe?”

Jean’s lips twist into an ugly smile as he picks out a large chunk of ice, considers it, then drops it back into the glass.

“I was wondering when you were gonna remember that. I’ve been waiting almost since you walked in.”

“I guess I forgot. Your girls are very distracting.”

“I know, right. Little minxes.”

“But I remember now.” A little bit closer. “You said you’d tell me. Will you?”

“Do you really care?”

“Jean-”

“Fine, fine.” He sighs. “It may surprise you, but I haven’t really dated much.” He glances at Marco. “Shocking, no?” Marco cleverly stays quiet, and Jean rolls his eyes and continues. “Right, well, as much as I’ve tried to paint the store in Trost as a polar opposite of this one, it was pretty incestuous there too. It wasn’t like here, where you guys are all superfriends, but like...kind of a weird competitive ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, fuck ‘em, and then try to beat ‘em anyway’ sort of thing. And um,” he pauses, scratching just below his eye, “Hitch was a shift leader who acted like she didn’t care about anything or anyone ever, and people used to joke that she’d blown Nile, our manager, to get the job. Nile is happily married with three kids, so...one day when things were getting kind of testy at intake I said that she must have been really amazing if he would cheat on his wife with someone like her. And she asked me if I wanted to find out.”

Marco feels this like a weight in his chest. It’s silly, but he can’t help it; and what’s more, he can’t tell if it’s because of his own jealous want or the way Jean looks so very small and lost.

“So we started fucking around and...she was good. I mean, I literally had one other person to compare her to, but it was fun. It was nice. To have someone to spend time with, even if was mostly just sex and cheeseburgers.”

“I like sex and cheeseburgers,” Marco murmurs, and when Jean raises an eyebrow at him, he clamps his mouth shut, motions for him to keep going.

“Yeah well, who doesn’t. I mean...you know what I mean. Anyway I sort of started thinking that maybe we had a thing. I wasn’t...in love with her or shit like that, but it was cool to go to work and flirt, then go home and fuck, then sit around in our underwear and eat garbage and watch TV.” He takes a deep breath. “Sorry, I’ll get to the point.”

“Take your time,” Marco realizes he’s moved even closer. There’s less than a foot between them now. He can’t take his eyes off Jean.

Jean shrugs.

“I fucked it up. Like I fuck everything up. I um,” he pauses, clears his throat, “I was going to law school, actually. In Trost.”

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Law school?! Really? What the hell are you doing in a bookstore?”

Jean’s face screws up into an angry scowl, but he still won’t look at Marco.

“Last night you were telling me that Reiner has a PhD, Bert almost has one, and Hanji apparently was a doctor. I don’t even know what you did in school, but I bet you have a least one degree.”

“Sociology,” Marco smiles wryly, “With a minor in history. I thought maybe I wanted to be a teacher.”

“And obviously you’re not,” Jean waves his hand flippantly, “But you could have been. So why the fuck do any of us end up in Survey? I don’t know, maybe because the light at the end of the tunnel is just a sign pointing to more tunnel. The point is, I thought I could be a lawyer, make a lot of money like my mom, get out of retail. And I’d talk to Hitch about this, and she’d just laugh. Like that was a stupid idea. And it never made sense to me because she wasn’t actually an idiot or just a dumb slut, she had an advanced psych degree and she just wasn’t using it. Same with Marlowe, this prima donna rule jockey who has a haircut like Spock, and Boris, his best frenemy. They’re all smart, but they all work in a fucking bookstore. And they acted like I thought I was better than they were for not wanting to settle.”

It’s hard to hear this. Marco finds he’s holding himself very still, shoulders tensed and hands clenched on his thighs. This isn’t what he expected to hear from Jean, and it's painful.

“I thought…” he says slowly, “That you liked working in a bookstore.”

“I do!” Jean finally turns to him, “But it’s not really the road to glory, is it?”

“Do you need that? What’s wrong with just being happy?”

“I didn’t want to be happy, I wanted to be important!” Jean is flushed now, and for once it’s not attractive. It’s angry and sad and stubborn. Marco wants to argue, but he stays silent. Jean pushes on. “And so I started putting more effort into school and stopped hanging around with Hitch so much, and eventually…” He presses his lips into a line, then parts them to exhale, “We stopped doing anything. Even talking. And she and Marlowe suddenly started having these long drawn out conversations all the time, you couldn’t walk around a corner without smacking into them giggling about some book review or reciting 'Finnegan’s-fucking-Wake' to each other. It's how they flirted, I guess. That fucking disaster of a book.”

 _Is this it?_ Marco wonders. Is this what sent Jean into hiding behind walls of aloof assholery? It almost seems too easy.

“So they got together.”

“Yeah, they got together.”

“And you came here.”

“Yeah.”

“What about law school?”

“Law school stopped.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!” Jean growls, smacking his hand down on the couch between them. Now Marco can see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. And as much as what Jean’s said has made him jealous, has wounded him and his pride -in himself, in his store, in his friends- he can’t help wanting to take Jean’s face in his hands and kiss the tears away. “Just like that.” Jean closes his eyes. He inhales a shuddering breath. “And that’s the story of why I hate James Joyce the end.”

Marco surprises both of them by barking out a laugh at Jean’s sudden conclusion, but he quickly regains composure before doing something else terribly bold: he covers Jean’s hand with his own. Jean doesn’t even react, just stares the floor as though he’s never truly considered carpeting before. He sniffles.

“I don’t…” he starts.

“You don’t what?” asks Marco softly.

“I don’t hate working in a bookstore. It’s just...not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life.”

Marco chews on his lip for a moment.

“I don’t think any of us are. I know I’m not.”

“Yeah, you thought you’d be married to your cousin in a castle.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“Or teaching, or in grad school, or I dunno, any number of things. But I’m here. And I’ve met a lot of really important people here that I might have missed if I’d gone somewhere else.” Quietly: “I met you.”

Jean snorts.

“Wow, you sure won the lottery there.” Before Marco can protest, he interjects, “But are you happy?”

“Yes,” Marco answers, the conviction he felt at Mikasa’s party filling him. “I wasn’t always sure, but I am now.”

“Bully for you, then.”

“I think you could be happy too. I think...if you let go of what happened in Trost…you could be happy here with us.” _With me._ He leans toward Jean.

“Like I said,” Jean is leaning toward him too, “You make it sound so easy.”

Marco can smell the watered down Coke and pizza sauce on his breath. He doesn’t care, he’s sure Jean could say the same thing about him. Jean’s eyes have drifted close, and even though he’s fairly sure he wants to memorize this moment with every one of his senses, Marco feels his own eyes shutting slowly too.

The inches slip away between them. Jean’s lips are chapped against his, slightly parted, warm. He feels the tension ease out of both their bodies, and reaches to put his free hand on the armrest behind Jean and lever himself closer.

Instead, he plants it directly on the volume button of the remote. The ending theme of "Ghostbusters" blasts out of the TV violently. Jean yelps and falls off the couch as Marco scrambles to correct his horrible, disastrous mistake. It’s too late, though. Jean is quickly on his feet, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched as he tries to unsuccessfully disappear into the cowl.

“Wow, the movie ended, huh? We totally missed the big...scene. With the...Zuul and the ‘Ray when someone asks you if you’re a god’ and stuff. Bummer.”

Marco stares at him. Really? They’re really going to pretend that didn’t just happen? After the nose-licking, the phone calls, after the gerbils, after this talk…

“Seriously?” He says, and he’s shaking. He doesn’t know if it’s from the kiss or anger or sheer desperation, but it won’t stop.

“What?” Jean narrows his eyes, and that’s it.

“You...we’re really just...going to talk about the movie now?”

“I’m done talking about Trost.” Jean’s cheeks are still pink but the rest of him is pale. He licks his lips. “Is there something else we should discuss?”

Something in Marco snaps; he can almost hear it. Well then.

“Thanks for dinner,” Marco stands up, brushing non-existent crumbs off his thighs and stalking to where he’s left his coat. “And the heart to heart. It was all very illuminating, especially the part about how you like just fucking around with someone.”

“Marco-”

“I’m sorry, Jean,” Marco raises his hands in surrender, wishing he regretted the words tumbling out of his mouth, but... “I can’t this time. I can’t. I can’t just keep...I can’t, okay?”

“Marco, don’t-” Jean actually reaches for him, and to his utter surprise, it’s Marco who smacks his hand away.

“No _you_ 'don’t!' I listened to you essentially criticize what I do with my life and I get it, that's not for you, but if you can't even...” Jean looks at him with wide, wild eyes, and Marco sighs. He feels like shit and worse than shit. He feels like eight kinds of roadkill. “I’m sorry, I’m tired, and I need to go to bed. I’ll see you at work.”

He unlocks the door and yanks it open, barely feeling the steps under his feet although the rush of air as Jean slams the door behind him brushes his hair against his temples. Fuck he needs a haircut. Fuck he needs a drink. Fuck he needs… a fuck and a punch in the face and one more good long cry. His side hurts. His heart hurts. He’s definitely not happy now.

“Who’s always fucking reasonable, you stupid idiot!” he yells at the dashboard as he drives home. “Goddammit!”

And yet... As he sits in the car outside of his apartment long enough that his shaking turns from rage to sheer cold exhaustion, he finds himself staring at the texts from that morning, and in spite of himself, he taps out a message with nearly-numb fingers.

It’s something he’s said to Jean at the end of every major conversation they’ve had recently, and if this is going to be the last, he wants to say it one more time.

**> >From: Me  
Good night, Jean. **

There’s no response. He doesn’t expect one.

-

He’s grateful for the closing shift because it means he doesn’t need to get out of bed until nearly noon. He’s extra grateful that Eren is so weirdly quiet and wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t seem to notice Marco’s dark mood; that Bert is at intake and so distracted by buying and pricing a classical music collection that he doesn’t even think to come near him; that Levi just plain doesn’t give a fuck. He’s even grateful that he’s closing with Mikasa, because even though he knows she’ll tell Armin something was wrong (and Armin will tell Annie, and Annie will tell Reiner and Reiner will tell Bert and Ymir and Connie and Sasha and eventually everyone will be blowing up his phone with all the concern he doesn’t want), she’ll stay quiet at work.

It’s unfortunate, though, that Jean is also closing with them.

Marco barricades himself at the register. He makes himself talk brightly with every customer and prices comic books, DVDs, anything within arm’s reach so he doesn’t have a moment’s downtime. Whenever Jean passes the counter he turns away, but Jean doesn’t try to talk to him anyway. Like it doesn’t matter what they’ve said to each other; like it was never important to begin with. It’s petty and childish and mean on both their parts, he knows it, and as the day goes by, it’s tiresome and irritating. He hates feeling this way. He hates that, for all he gets fed up with being labeled as understanding and patient, he’s not able to give Jean that courtesy now.

The last customers of the day are a father and daughter, and the book she cautiously slides onto the counter is, hilariously, “Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Marco mutters to himself, scanning the book.

“Sorry?” The man says.

“Oh! Nothing!” Marco forces a smile. “I was just talking about this book with a-” He gropes for the right word for whatever Jean is to him right now, and is surprised with what comes out, “-a friend. He loves this book.”

“Yeah?” The little girl has warm dark eyes, and he thinks of Jessica.

“Yeah. It’s his favorite. Ever since he was a little kid.”

“Cool,” she says, taking the book off the counter as her father pays.

“What do we say?” he prompts.

“Thank you,” she blushes, holding the book close to her chest. Marco can’t help smiling.

“Of course. I hope you like it too. Have a good night!”

She waves at him and he waves back, then walks around the counter to lock the door after them. He counts out his drawer and carries it back to Mikasa in the office, stopping to get a broom from the supply closet before heading back up to the front to do his closing chores.

 _Couldn’t help calling him your friend, could you,_ his Ymir-voice chides him, but he shakes his head.

“It is what it is,” he says to himself, “I am what I am.”

The cd player is still on, shifting through the assortment of discs, and before long Marco finds himself singing along to David Gray’s “Babylon.”

“And if you want it, come and get it, for crying out loud...Let go your heart, let go your head, feel it now...”

He turns in a circle, gathering up all the spilled sugar from under the coffee stand, then skirts around the cart of clearance cds to make a pile of debris before starting around the counter itself.

“Sunday all the lights of London shining, sky is fading red to blue…” He’d be surprised he knows so many of the lyrics, but there’s only a few cds that end up in active rotation and the player itself is notorious for having a “considerably less than random” random function. He’s probably heard this song every day for almost two weeks now.

Marco is dimly aware of Jean at intake behind him, putting away stray books that have wandered across the store during the day. He takes a deep breath and keeps sweeping; he may not be a brilliant singer but it’s making him feel better.

“...I can’t believe, climbing on the stair I turn around to see you smiling there in front of me…”

He rounds the counter to add more floor gunk to his pile, and restarts the chorus.

“So if you want it, come and get it, for cryin’ out loud, the l-”

Someone is suddenly right next to him and he looks up just as Jean pulls the broom out of his hands, tosses it onto the floor, then throws his arms around Marco’s neck and smashes their mouths together.

By no definition is it a good kiss. It’s rough and ragged and Marco is so startled he loses his footing and stumbles into Jean, feeling one of the other man’s canines dig into his lower lip, cutting it open, but Jean stands firm. When he breaks the kiss and looks up at Marco (who is certain he looks nothing short of completely fucking _flabbergasted_ ), his eyes are as fierce as ever.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

This time Marco cuts him off, grabbing Jean by the hips and pulling him as close as possible. _This can’t be happening,_ his mind yells, _this is clearly some kind of massive hallucination you may be having a traumatic brain event danger danger!_

“I don’t care,” he mumbles against Jean’s mouth, not sure which one of them he’s addressing, probably both. “I don’t care, it’s fine, I’m sorry too.”

“Please,” Jean’s voice is husky and breathless, and Marco gathers him tighter against him, tilting his head to get a better angle.

“Are you done sweeping?”

They stagger apart. Mikasa, dressed for the outdoors with her bag over her shoulder, is looking at them curiously. Marco quickly shoots a glance at Jean, who is looking at back. Mikasa is right there in front of him, and Jean is looking _at him._

“Ahhhhh...almost?” It's a struggle to think of anything but Jean, especially cleaning.

“You should probably finish that up,” Mikasa nods toward the collection of dirt on the floor. “Before Levi comes in tomorrow and flips out.”

“Yes. Yes I should.” Marco whirls around and grabs the dustpan, practically flinging all the detritus back onto the floor in his haste to finish.

“I’ll get your coat.” Jean says. “And my coat. Coats.”

He runs toward the back, leaving Marco alone with Mikasa’s long dark gaze.

“...don’t say anything?” It sounds more pleading than he wants, but he can’t risk it. He won’t risk it. Not this. Not now. “Please? Not yet?”

“What are you even talking about?” Mikasa’s voice is light. “What would I have to say to anyone about anything?”

“You’re amazing, Mikasa,” he says, surprising both of them by surging forward and hugging her. She pats his arm awkwardly and he quickly lets go, in time for Jean to appear with both their coats. He’s got that damn hat on, and Marco is thrilled to see it. “Let’s get out of here.”

“About time, isn’t it.” Mikasa enters the code into the alarm system, follows them out the door, and locks it behind her.

“Yeah,” Jean makes an abortive move toward Marco’s hand and Marco finishes it for him, winding their fingers together. “Probably is.”

-

**> >From: Ymir  
baby**

**> >From: Ymir  
baby sources say u were fucked up again 2day did the bad man hurt u? **

**> >From: Ymir  
do u need me 2 come cut a bitch? tell me ill get my murderin shoes on**

**> >From: Ymir  
marco butt butt bodt i swear 2 god i will call the police unless u answer me in the next 2 min**

**> >From: Me  
I’m fine! I promise! Just a rough day at work but everything is okay now! :)**

**> >From: Ymir  
u sure? no1 is holding u hostage & making u type that?**

**> >From: Me  
I swear on Christa.**

**> >From: Ymir  
only i can swear on christa**

**> >From: Me  
I swear on Croissant the devilbunny, long may his descendants destroy my father’s garden.**

**> >From: Ymir  
ok...imma call u in the morning tho u better pick up w in 3 rings or im coming over w a shotgun**

**> >From: Me  
You don't own a shotgun.**

**> >From: Ymir  
dickface i will find 1 dont u sass me i have ur best interest in mind always**

**> >From: Me  
Okay! I'll talk to you in the morning then! Good night! :D**

**> >From: Ymir  
** **night u ungrateful twat kiss kiss suck it**

“Pay attention to me,” Jean sticks a fry in his mouth and grabs for Marco’s phone. He laughs and holds it as far out of the way as he can.

“Hold on, I just need to make sure she doesn’t send hired goons after you!”

“I don’t fucking care if she does!” Jean yanks the phone away finally and tosses it into the back seat. “Pay attention to _me_.”

“I thought I was past making out in McDonald’s parking lots.”

“Turns out you’re not. You're a goddamn adult, do what you want. But shut up and kiss me.”

“You taste like fries.”

“Not one more fucking word, Marco,” Jean grabs the collar of his coat, pulling Marco toward him across the center console. “Not one...fucking...word...”

Marco doesn’t have anything else he wants to say anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a moment around 3:30 last night when I debated just ending this chapter in Sadville. Ten years ago I would have done it. 
> 
> What can I say, though, I'm just a marshmallow in my advanced age. :F 
> 
> Oh, and uh...if anyone has a good idea for a tumblr tag for this fic? Apparently searching "Fic: Say You Will" gets you a lot of Kanye West? I dunno man. I'm gonna keep trying it and also "SYW" but suggestions are happily considered!
> 
> (Come [tumbl with me.](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com))


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean start to slowly navigate the road to a relationship. And surprisingly, it seems to be going pretty darn well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh you guys. Oh my gosh. I don't even know what to make of you all. I want to shower each of you with bouquets of thanks and love. 
> 
> I'm so sorry I haven't gotten to the comments from last week. I'm gonna do the thing, I promise, I just spent every day since the last update at work. Except Saturday, when I switched things up by feeling ill on the couch all day. Please know I've read them all your words at least three times and caressed them delicately. Thank you all so, so much. It's a quiet chapter this week, I hope it'll serve as a nice buffer between last week's excitement and what's on the horizon for next time. >.>
> 
> And oh my god I have fanart?!?! There's these [two](http://mister-marco-bodt.tumblr.com/post/88890588892/im-drawing-my-favorite-fics-say-you-will-or) [epic](http://mister-marco-bodt.tumblr.com/post/89105758572/so-i-drew-ymir-from-say-you-will) pieces by [mister-marco-bodt](http://mister-marco-bodt.tumblr.com) who is amazing, and a sexy new [header image](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com/post/90421824510/whoooaaaaaa-my-first-fanart-in-forever-and-its) inspired by soggy Jean waaaay back in chapter 2 by [Joanna Estep.](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) I don't even know what to do with myself. I could just look at them for hours (and I do).
> 
> Also uh...this chapter has spoilers for the end of season 3 of "Downton Abbey?" If you're into that. 
> 
> Endless gratitude goes, as always to said Joanna Estep, (who has [THIS](http://www.previewsworld.com/Home/1/1/71/918?stockItemID=MAY140819) coming out today EEE!), [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), who keep me grounded, and the goddess [Monkeysocks,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) in whom all things are possible.

Tuesday morning, “Ride of the Valkyries” startles him awake, and Marco flails for the phone, knowing exactly who is calling and why. For the second time in several days he manages to knock the phone off his nightstand, this time under the bed, and he writhes out of the covers and onto the cold floor to grab it just in time.

“I’m alive!” He groans into the phone, pulling himself back up onto the bed and slithering under the covers once more. “I’m fine, I’m fine, stop worrying.”

Ymir sighs and annoyance.

“And here I was getting excited I might get to finally call in the tactical air division.”

“The tactical air division of what?”

“Ymir’s special fucking forces, I don’t know.” She huffs. “What’s it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he snuffles, clear his throat. “Good morning.”

“Morning, starshine. Glad you’re all right.”

“Who even told you I was having a bad day yesterday?”

“Does it matter? I have eyes everywhere. I told you, I always have your best interest in mind.”

“It’s a little creepy.”

“You’re a little creepy.”

“No but honestly, who was it? Bert?”

“I protect my sources. What was up, though?”

He thinks of singing. Of the broom clattering to the floor as Jean tossed it aside. Of sitting in the parking lot of McDonalds until nearly two in the morning, alternating between talking softly with Jean about nothing in particular and thoroughly exploring each other’s mouths.

“Nothing that didn’t get resolved on its own.” Marco can feel himself grinning hugely, and closes his eyes to let the thrill fill him completely. “Can I go back to sleep now? I have the day off and I went to bed late.”

“Mmm,” he can hear the suspicion in her voice, “I dunno, you sound funny. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You woke up me up.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s something else…” It sounds like she’s trying to peer through the phone. “Something I haven’t heard in a while...OH MY GOD.”

“What?” Marco is suddenly alert, covers clutched against his chest.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

“What?!”

“MARCO BODT DID YOU GET LAID LAST NIGHT?!”

Marco’s eyes get wide and he sits up, looking around the room to see if Ymir has somehow installed hidden cameras in his bedroom.

“N-no, I didn’t get laid!”

“YOU GOT SOMETHING!!!”

“Stop yelling into the phone!”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” he can’t tell if she’s excited or horrified or both. “Did you touch two-tone sucktruck’s dick?! Did he touch yours?!”

He rubs his hand over his eyes.

“We made out in my car, okay?”

“‘...made out?’ What are you, 13? You practically come in your pants over this guy for two months and you finally get to do something and it’s just kissing? Honey I am ashamed. I thought I taught you better than that. At least you just up and fucked that temp, none of this...dilly-dallying around in cars.”

Marco rolls his eyes, wishing he was closer to a wall so he could bang his head on it.

“I’m not taking any chances with this one. Can’t you just, I dunno, appreciate the fact that I got anywhere with Jean?”

Ymir sighs overexaggeratedly.

“Fine, I guess it’s great and shit because maybe now you’ll finally get some actual dick instead of shamewanking so hard you’ll need a prosthetic hand.”

“Ymir!” he sputters.

“Oh what, like I don’t know how you get with a crush. Seriously.” Her laugh is low, throaty but warm. “I guess I have to invite him to my birthday party now, right? Cuz he’s your boyfriend or some shit.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” the smile returns to his lips as he says it. _Not yet, at least._

“Whatever, your ‘special kissytime friend.’”

“Now who’s 13?”

“Takes one to know one, puss.”

“Mm,” Marco rubs his eye, “Wait, your birthday is...shit, it’s next week, isn’t it?”

“Glad you remembered, you’ve only been celebrating it your whole life.”

“I’ve had some stuff on my mind.”

“Yeah, well, as good an excuse as that isn’t, you better not have forgotten that it’s my big 3-0. Gonna have the party Saturday night so Christa can recover on Sunday, and then she and I are gonna do something super special on the actual day. Actually, we’ll probably go out to dinner, you can come to that if you want, but the afterparty is private.”

“Is it being held at Club Epic?”

“Club Epic is gonna have an extra special headliner that night. She's got something planned and when that girl get's going...lemme tell you what.”

“Oh god,” he mumbles, “Please don’t.”

“Anyway, gimme your dumb boy’s email so I can add him to my super amazing invitation.”

“I don’t know his email.”

“Laaaaaaaaaaaaaame.”

“We never exchanged emails, just phone numbers.” And a lot of saliva last night. Marco shudders pleasantly, hand not holding the phone drifting down to the waistband of his boxers.

“Kids today. When I was your age-”

“It was three years ago. I’ll find out his email and send it to you. I’m going to back to sleep now.”

“You are not. You’re going to go jerk off to Frenchname McAss until the masturbation police come and Jaime Lannister your hand off to save you from yourself.”

Marco blanches, immediately moving his hand as far away from his crotch as possible.

“...tell me honestly, do you have cameras in this room?”

“HAAAAAAAAAAAA, I knew it! Loser! You are so predictable.”

He’s about to hang up on her when he thinks of something.

“Hey, you can tell Christa about Jean, but can you keep it to yourselves otherwise? It’s...I just want to be careful.”

“Psssh, I guarantee someone else’ll figure it out the minute they look at you, but fine. For once, I will respect your decision and not broadcast your powers of seduction to the rest of the world.”

“Thank you, sweet cousin.”

“You owe me.”

“I’m gonna go touch my penis now. I’m going to do it while I think about a boy.”

“EW!” Ymir shrieks into the phone. “Ew ew you don’t owe me, okay, oh my god, you’re horrible, I’ll talk to you later GOODBYE YOU FUCKING MONSTER.”

“Bye darling.” Marco hangs up and can’t help smiling at the phone for a bit.

Before he forgets, he texts Jean asking for his email. Then he sets down his phone, takes one more look around the room for spy devices, and gets down to his own private business. Now that he knows how Jean really tastes, the way he breathes through his nose during a long kiss, the way his tongue curls against the roof of Marco’s mouth… there’s so much to think about he doesn’t even know where to begin and it’s over almost too fast.

He checks his phone one more time before getting in the shower.

**> >From: Jean  
i dunno why you need it and youd better not laugh but its jeanbo_k@gmail. **

**> >From: Jean  
also can i see you again tonight**

Marco just about nuzzles the message, and types back “Absolutely!” as quickly as he can with one hand.

**> >From: Jean  
cool i’ll text you when i get off**

The wording is too appropriate, and Marco looks down at his come-smeared stomach and grins. Screw feeling like an adult today, he feels like a teenager today and it’s awesome. Especially the refractory period.

-

-

**> >From: Connie  
just got ymirs email party party partyyyyy. this is gonna rule.**

**> >From: Marco  
:)**

**> >From: Connie  
saw jean was invited though, that's kinda interesting huh.**

**> >From: Marco  
Is it? Ymir does what she wants. **

**> >From: Connie  
actually come to think of it, he's being like weirdly almost nice to people today. what did you do**

**> >From: Me  
Maybe he’s just having a good day?**

**> >From: Connie  
somethings going on here marco and i will find out what >.>**

**> >From: Me  
Let me know if you find out anything interesting. :)**

**> >From: Connie  
shady, marco, very shady. i'm watching you. or him. him for now. i'll watch you later. **

**> >From: Me  
That's creepy, Connie, go back to work.**

**> >From: Connie  
O.o**

**> >From: Connie  
o.O**

**> >From: Connie  
** **O.OOoo OH SHIT LEVI gdsajk**  
-

“So I’ve got a question or two for you,” says Jean as Marco opens the door to his building to let him in.

It’s not the greeting he’d hoped for, but nothing could really have lived up to his day-long fantasy of Jean throwing himself across the threshold and into Marco’s arms, the two of them retreating to his bedroom and not coming out until sometime next week. Nevertheless, Marco is pleased just to have Jean here, and he leads him the few feet to his apartment door.

“Yeah?”

“Why were Connie and Sasha following me around like shitty spies all day?”

“I dunno, maybe they thought you needed protection. People get mugged in bookstores all the time.”

“No they fucking don’t.”

“There’s all kinds of hidden dangers. Bookslides. Dustmites. Earwigs that’ll just fly out at you.” Jean looks at him evenly. “...I don’t know, Jean, Connie texted me to say that you were in a good mood, I can’t possibly have had anything to do with him thinking that.”

Jean’s lips actually quirk into a smile at that, but he quickly schools his face back into its customary look of “vague annoyance.”

“Right, okay, you may not have said anything to them, but you said something to your cousinwife, didn't you?”

“....I might have.”

“And you gave her my fucking email!” Jean yanks off his hat and smacks Marco’s arm with it. “You could have just told me she wanted it, you ass!”

“You wouldn’t have given it to me if I said it was for Ymir!” Marco laughs, holding up his hands to fend off the yarny assault. “Besides, she figured things out on her own! And she said she wanted to invite you! You should be flattered!”

“I should be flattered that someone who more or less totally hates me wants me to come to their birthday party?”

“.....yes?”

Jean pauses a moment, then goes back to hitting Marco with the hat.

“Nope, doesn’t make sense!”

“Hey now!” Still chuckling, Marco grabs for Jean’s wrist. As he does he finds himself slipping his free arm around Jean’s waist. He inhales sharply, inwardly thrilled at Jean’s total lack of resistance as he pulls him closer. “I didn’t suggest you come over so you could abuse me.”

“Yeah?” Jean hand has stilled against his arm, the other hovering between them as if it can’t decide whether or not it’s safe to rest on Marco’s chest. “Then why did you?”

 _To show you all the surfaces on which I want to fuck you vigorously,_ Marco’s mind helpfully supplies.

“Um,” he says, trying to derail that dangerous train of thought, “Because we went to your house the other night and I thought it was better than sitting in a cold car while we tried to decide what to do.”

“We sat in a cold car for several hours last night, if you recall.”

“That was different!” Marco blushes, then ducks his head. “It didn’t feel that cold.”

“It didn’t, did it,” Jean says, and does the exact thing that Marco’s been pining for since last night: he kisses him.

It’s almost surreal, to be standing in his own home with Jean in his arms. That this is actually happening, that it’s Jean who made it happen... It seems like he’s been falling in love with Jean for ages, but maybe this whole time it’s been the the slow climb of a rollercoaster, and they’ve just now started down the highest drop.

When they pull apart, Jean looks away shyly.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about that all day.”

“Why would you apologize?” Marco squeezes him a little tighter until Jean looks back. “You don’t think I’ve been thinking the same thing?”

“I didn’t want to flatter myself,” Jean bites the corner of his lip and makes a face that might be coquettish if it wasn’t so downright dirtyhot. “But it crossed my mind.”

Marco exhales slowly, trying not to just starting tearing Jean’s clothes off.

“Anyway,” Jean continues, “Aren’t you gonna show me around?”

“I don’t...have any fun pets for you to meet,” he tries lamely, not quite willing to say “If I take you near my bed I’m going to want to throw you on it.”

“So what?”

“All right,” Marco tries to casually adjust his pants, “But when you get bored, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He leads Jean through his apartment -kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and the extra room that mostly serves as his library. He watches Jean go from bookcase to bookcase, peering at the titles and the pictures on the shelves. He stops at a photograph of Marco and Ymir at Marco’s college graduation where Ymir is bodily lifting Marco up, then moves past it to run his index finger along some of the spines.

“‘House of Leaves?’”

“Yeah,” Marco says, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Have you read it?”

“Uh-huh,” Jean pulls it off the shelf. “Scared the fucking crap out of me, and then it made me cry. Of course it would be your kind of book.” He flips through it. “Oh, you have the fancy edition with the red and blue text.”

“It came into the store and I couldn’t resist. It’s been ages since I read it, though.”

“Me too.” He hands the book to Marco, pulling out another one. “I read it when I was a senior in high school. The guy I had a thing for was super into it, so I wanted to read it too.”

Marco nearly drops the book directly onto his foot.

“The guy…?!”

Jean gives him that look he’s starting to know so well, the half-bored, half-embarrassed “I can’t believe you’re making me talk about this, but” gaze that makes him shiver.

“Are you totally shocked?”

“No, it’s just that before you wouldn’t say if you had a preference, and so all I had to go on was you talking about Mikasa and Hitch…”

“...last night didn’t clue you in?”

Marco rolls his eyes this time.

“Okay so I had a feeling you probably swung both ways, but you’d never confirmed it until now.”

“Mm,” Jean holds the next book, ‘The Passage,’ in his hands, turning it over. “If you’d asked me at the time, I probably would have said I just thought he was cool. But I kind of figured out in college that it was more that.” He shrugs. “It’s not like I had a problem with it, or my family did, it just… I sucked at dating anyone, like I’ve said. And for whatever reason, it was harder to get boys to look at me than girls.”

“So you’ve never…”

“Never what?” Jean raises an eyebrow, sliding ‘The Passage’ back into place.

“Nothing,” Marco blushes, “It’s none of my business.”

“No, come on, spit it out.”

“You’ve never had a sex with a guy, then?”

Now Jean blushes and scowls.

“I more or less told you the other night I’ve only had sex with two people. Both of them were women.” He rolls his shoulders. “I made out with some guys, fooled around a little, and Hitch and I did some butt stuff, but if you mean full out gay anal sex, no, I’ve never done that.”

It shouldn’t sound like a challenge. Marco should not interpret this as a personal goal: to thoroughly teach Jean what it means to fuck. But he can feel his heart racing at the thought, at the purely base and animalistic urge to claim Jean in a way no one else has… No. _It’s too soon, he thinks,_ his increasingly absent logical side cutting in. It’s been less than 24 hours since they first kissed, he needs to take things slowly with Jean, or at least more slowly than jumping him into the bookcase. He needs to take a deep breath or seven. He needs to get them out of this room before he loses complete control

“-should’ve known you’d have a boner for it.”

“What?!” Marco actually jumps, and Jean glances at him, startled.

“‘It.’” Jean repeats, his expression reading something along the lines of “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It?” Marco knows he sounds like an idiot, so he follows Jean’s hand to where it’s resting on the spine of...oh. Stephen King’s “It.” Good lord. He’s a moron (although he's relieved that Jean didn't seem to notice him slipping into erotic reverie).

“Everyone I’ve ever met,” Jean says evenly, “Who likes Stephen King thinks this book is the shit.”

“Well,” Marco is trying to find his footing back on not-blindingly-horny ground. “That’s because it’s definitely some of his best writing and the overall story-”

“But it’s true there’s some weird child orgy, right?”

That brings Marco’s sex-drive crashing back down to earth, and he laughs a little hesitantly.

“Well when you say it like that, it sounds totally nuts, but in the context of the story, it’s actually a really touching scene.” Jean’s face registers dry disbelief. “Okay you may not believe me, but I promise, that part aside, it’s an excellent book. It lives up to the hype.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Hey, I didn’t insult your book collection when I went to your house.”

“I’m not insulting, I’m offering literary criticism.”

“On a book you’ve never read.”

“Details, details.”

Jean's ridiculous opinions aside, that was the perfect non-sequitur. Marco finds he’s breathing easier now, and thinking more clearly - and with the proper head.

“So...what did you want to do?”

“I was thinking we could go somewhere and not eat total trash.”

“You’re the one who always wants to go to McDonald’s,” Marco reminds him. “And who suggested the pizza.”

“You didn’t complain.”

“Complain about you? Never.”

Jean gives him such a withering glare that he can’t help laughing.

“I spend all day trying to come up with something nice," Jean starts, "And I come here and you-” Marco kisses him. Jean’s hand clenches around the edge of the bookshelf, and he’s flushed when they pull apart. “...fuck you, now I don’t remember what I was saying.”

“My sinister plan worked.”

Jean snorts.

“Anyway, um...there’s a Vietnamese place not far from here. I saw it on the way.”

“Sure, I know it.”

“Is it good?

“I don’t know, honestly, for whatever reason I’ve never been.”

“Well it’s cold and pho sounds awesome right now.” He gestures to Marco with his chin. “So get your coat, stud, we’re gonna go eat fancy Asian soup.”

“Bossy.”

“Whine whine whine, that’s all you do.”

“And ‘stud?’” Marco goes to the closet. “What is this, ‘Grease?’”

“You know I’m getting close to leaving you here and going by myself.”

“Nope! Too late! I'm coming too!” Marco reaches for Jean’s hand, knotting their fingers together. They fit so well, and he doesn’t think he imagines Jean squeezing his hand.

Jean pauses, though, as they head for the door.

“Marco?” he asks shyly, “Is this a date?”

Marco blinks. _Yes,_ he almost answers immediately, _of course it is._ But because he wants to take this one step at a time, because he wants Jean to be comfortable; because, he realizes, more than he wants Jean physically, he wants for Jean to trust him with this, with them, with himself… he says “Do you want it to be?”

Jean’s eyes search his for a moment, then he smiles softly and glances away.

“Yeah. I do.”

“All right.” Marco grins so hard he feels the cut from Jean’s tooth split open again. “Then it’s a date.”

-

The thing he forgets when he’s so caught up in imagining touching Jean is how much Marco simply enjoys being with him. He remembers, though, as soon as they’re in Jean’s car and on the way to the restaurant; as they sit and talk across steaming bowls of pho and Jean pushes all the peppers towards him with an expression of disgust; as he watches the other man loosen up and they talk about everything and nothing the way that friends do, the way that possibly more than friends do. Just this, just talking, just this nearness makes Marco happy, and he’s pretty sure it makes Jean happy too. Jean certainly smiles more, and it’s infectious.

They finally leave when the waitstaff starts giving them dirty looks, but linger in the corner of the parking lot, exchanging quiet words and soft kisses, sweeter and slower than the night before. _I’m going to remember this forever,_ Marco thinks each time until the next kiss pushes the previous one out of his mind.

“So much for not hanging out in a cold car,” Jean mumbles against his mouth.

“Huhhmm,” Marco responds helpfully, brushing his thumb under Jean’s eye as he tilts his head to swipe his tongue deeper into Jean’s mouth.

By the time Jean drops him back off in front of his building, Marco is certain that the simple intimacy of kissing in the car -in Jean’s car, where all this started- has been worth more than what might have happened if they’d gone to bed together. For now, at least.

Or maybe what it really means is that when they do have sex, it will be an event of epic proportions, but Marco will cross that bridge when he comes to it. And when he comes over it later in the privacy of his own home. Anyway.

“You working tomorrow?” Marco leans in the still open door, reluctant to leave even though the wind is getting colder as the night advances.

“No, tomorrow’s my day off.” Jean smiles wryly. “Nice schedule, huh? Very star-crossed.”

“That’s okay.” It’s an effort not to just slide back into the seat and wrap his arms around Jean again. “We could get together tomorrow, if you wanted. Unless it’s too much or you’re busy.”

“Yeah I have a big day of lying in bed not doing chores and getting stared at by gerbils.”

“That sounds very demanding.”

“Doesn’t it?” Jean sighs dramatically. “But I could probably make time in my very intense day to see you again.”

“I’ll text you,” Marco grins. “Good night, Jean.”

“You always say that,” Jean drapes his arm across the steering wheel.

“Huh?”

“‘Good night, Jean.’”

“Oh? Well-”

“It’s like the song by The Juliana Theory. Have you heard it?”

“No, I don’t know that band.”

“The guy I mentioned?” Jean clears his throat. “The one from high school. He really liked them, so I… they’re okay.”

“...that’s...great?”

“It’s a good song though,” Jean shifts, looking embarrassed. “Anyway, uh...I’m cold. I’ll see you tomorrow. Night, Marco.”

“Good niiiiiiight, Jeeeaaaan!”

Marco shuts the door and goes inside, head spinning in the best possible way. He’s almost tempted to look up this song, but to be completely honest, he doesn’t really want to think about someone Jean liked in the past. He wants to think about being the person Jean likes in the present and the future. He wants to think about being the person Jean loves.

He’ll get there. He’s sure of it. One day at a time. He’s made it this far, and it’s been more than worth it.

Marco falls asleep thinking about what they might do tomorrow.

-

Marco has decided to take Jean to the bar where Ymir and Christa met - it’s a little place, cozy, with live local music on Wednesdays. Jean might hate it on principle to begin with, but he’s certain they’d have a good time regardless. He’s scanning the DVDs for inventory, going over the wording of the text he plans to send in his head when Annie appears next to him, as silent as the grave.

He jumps a little. She doesn’t react.

“Marco.”

“Hi Annie,” he raises an eyebrow, trying to regain some measure of cool composure. “What’s up?”

For an instant, she looks unsure. She glances over her shoulder at the register, where Eren is talking animatedly to Levi and Armin (but mostly Levi).

“I’m calling in a favor.”

“Oh?”

“I was supposed to to Reiner and Bert’s tonight to watch ‘Downton Abbey.’ Something’s come up and I can’t do it.”

Marco frowns.

“I don’t see how I can help with that.”

“Do you remember the time last fall when you had a gall bladder attack? It was a heavy buy day, and you needed me to take over your shift because you were in so much pain?”

Marco winces at the memory, hand going to protectively to his side.

“Yeah?”

“And you said, ‘Annie, if you take this shift for me, I promise I will do whatever you need whenever you need it.’”

“...I probably said that, sure…”

“I need you to take my place tonight.”

Marco blinks.

“...how does that work, exactly?”

Annie sighs, folding her arms across her chest. She tilts her head, bangs falling to the side and Marco has a moment to think _she’s really gorgeous_ before his eyes catch Eren and he immediately feels guilty for thinking it.

“Due to clause 29 in my relationship with Reiner and Bert, I am no longer allowed to cancel TV viewing parties unless I provide a replacement.”

“...........what?”

Annie looks particularly cross.

“Watching TV with Reiner can be an ordeal, I know you know that.”

Marco winces, but nods sadly - Reiner’s investment in “his stories” can border on the frightening, and he’s gotten through more than one night of BBC drama by relying heavily on alcohol.

“Agreed. Yeah but ‘relationship clause?’ Do you have actual documentation or-”

She ignores the question.

“I like ‘Downton’ as much as the next person, but last year I cancelled on them during the season finale.” Her eyes are piercing. “They killed off one of the major love interests of the series. Reiner was distraught, and Bert had to deal with it alone.”

“Um, but isn’t that Bert’s fault for living with Reiner in the first place?”

Annie’s glare is downright murderous and Marco actually raises the scanner a little as though it might protect him from her wrath.

“Look, the point is that everyone was traumatized, and there’s only three people that can calm down the two of them when they flip out: me, your cousin, and Jack Daniels. I’m not going to be available tonight. I sincerely doubt Ymir would go near ‘Downton Abbey.’ And I am pretty sure there is no liquor in that house right now. So you are going to be a surrogate.”

“You mean a sacrifice.” Marco pouts. “You’re just going to throw me into the ring of fire and hope that because Ymir and I are related if something goes down I can handle it.”

“Damn straight.”

“No can do,” he tries to look stern, but it’s hard under her withering stare. “I have plans tonight too.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do!”

“With who? I can personally account for the whereabouts of half your friend group for this evening.”

“...with Jean.”

Annie’s expression doesn’t change.

“Bring him along.”

“Annie, I haven’t ever even seen ‘Downton Abbey’ and I doubt Jean has either-”

“So what? It’ll be a learning experience.”

“I have plans, Annie!”

“Let me remind you again of the word you used: I _promise_ I will do _whatever you need whenever you need it._ ”

“...can we take into account that at the time, I was feeling so terrible I probably would have promised you my right arm if it meant I could go home?”

“I don’t need your right arm. I need you to watch TV with Bert and Reiner tonight. Can I count on you or do I have to put you down on my list of people who have broken their promises to me? It’s a very short list.”

“Fine!” He throws up his hands. “Fine, I’ll tell Jean we have to go watch this stupid show!”

“Don’t let Reiner hear you call it stupid. He’d personally fellate Julian Fellowes if it meant bringing Matthew back from the dead.”

“I have no idea what anything you just said even meant.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll let him know that he gets two for the price of one tonight.”

He sighs raggedly.

“Are you even going to tell me what it is you’re doing that’s so important you have to cancel on this potentially soul-damaging event?”

“If it becomes relevant,” her voice is airy, but Marco is sure he can hear the undertones of uncertainty. “I’ll be sure to inform you. For now, though, I’m sure your life will go on just fine without knowing.”

“Fine. I won’t ask anymore questions. I’ll go throw myself on the mercy of Reiner’s BBC shows.”

“Thank you, Marco. Your debt is repaid.”

Shaking his head, Marco returns to scanning, wondering how he’s going to pitch this to Jean, and trying not to regret how easily he caved. Annie is scary, though. Scary and persuasive. Jean will probably understand.

“Heyyyyyy.”

He looks over his shoulder as Reiner sidles up, beaming at him.

“A little angry bird told me you were gonna be her stand in tonight.” He looks so pleased that Marco can’t help smiling too.

“Yeah, me and Jean if that’s all right, he and I already had plans to do something.”

“Did you now? You finally getting somewhere?” Reiner wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Marco punches him in the arm. He laughs. “Once again, my advice works wonders. Auntie Reiner brings people together. Look I promise you two will have plenty of time to touch boners after the show. You’re young, you stay up late.”

“Reiner…”

“I know you’re not totally sold on this whole idea, Annie probably told you about last season, and yeah, that was rough, but I’ll throw in Bert cooking, too! He was gonna make a shepherd’s pie, and if Annie is out then we can use real animals.” He slings his arm around Marco’s shoulders. “Besides, Bert and I haven’t gotten a chance to hang out with your boy yet. It’ll be a good time.”

“Okay, okay, just let me know when we should be there.”

“Six o’clock!”

“Okay, and uh, you should know that I haven’t seen any of this show...”

“Not a problem.” Reiner hands him a slip of paper. Marco takes it and squints - for someone whose life and work has been based around words, Reiner’s handwriting makes him look barely literate. “It’s the address for the Downton wiki.”

“...thanks?”

“Educate yourself on your break. It’ll be fun, and rewarding!”

“Right,” Marco smiles weakly, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Reiner,” Levi growls, “Get your ass back to intake, there’s a six box sale coming in.”

“See you tonight, Marco!” Reiner winks and makes little finger guns at Marco as he walks away.

Marco sighs. The things he does for his friends.

-

**> >From: Me  
Hey. :)**

**> >From: Jean  
hey you on break?**

**> >From: Me  
Yeah. So uh...tonight, how would you feel about watching Downton Abbey with Bert and Reiner?**

**> >From: Jean  
…..are you fucking kidding me**

**> >From: Me  
I wish I was.**

**> >From: Jean  
why would i possiby want to do that?**

**> >From: Jean  
*possibly**

**> >From: Me  
Free dinner?**

**> >From: Jean  
what is it**

**> >From: Me  
Reiner said something about shepherd’s pie?**

**> >From: Jean  
…………..all we have to do is show up and watch TV and we get free shepherd’s pie?**

**> >From: Me  
Yes.**

**> >From: Me  
Well, and interact with them, yeah. **

**> >From: Jean  
does it matter i havent seen any of downtown abby?**

**> >From: Me  
No, I haven’t either. Reiner gave me a website to help fill in some backstory if you want it. **

**> >From: Jean  
i dont**

**> >From: Jean  
Sure fine whatever lets do it youll have to drive tho i obviously dont know where they live.**

**> >From: Me  
Okay. I’ll pick you up at 5:30. **

**> >From: Jean  
OK see you then**

**> >From: Me  
Can’t wait. :)**

-

As soon as Jean gets in the car, he’s kissing Marco breathless.

“W-wow,” he stutters as Jean pulls back to buckle his seatbelt. “Hi to you too.”

“Hi,” Jean tugs on one of his earflaps, looking more than a little cocky. “Even though I’m not sure you deserved it for getting us into some weird TV date.”

“I tried my best to get out of it, but Annie called me out on a promise I owed her from last fall before my surgery.”

“And you didn’t want to get beaten up by the badass ex-ballerina.”

“No I did not.”

“I like shepherd’s pie, though. I can fake my way through a stodgy show my mom likes to watch for free food.”

“You’re a true humanitarian, Jean.”

“I like to think so.” Jean has his phone in his lap as they drive, fiddling with the lock screen. “So your surgery.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have scars from it?”

“I do, yeah. They were supposed to be really small when it was just going to be laparoscopic, but then things got serious and they had to cut open my side.”

Jean makes a face and looks out the window.

“....can I see it sometime?”

Marco is very proud of himself for continuing to drive to Reiner and Bert’s instead of turning the car around to go straight back to Jean’s and show him the scar right this minute. Instead, he shifts a little, and makes sure he doesn’t sound too excited.

“Yeah. If you want.”

Jean smiles, then looks a bit wistful.

“..........I really wish we weren’t going to this stupid TV thing.”

“You and me both.” Marco sighs, turning onto their street.

Reiner is quite happy to see them, though, ushering them in the door with great relish. He and Bert live in an old house that has been converted into two separate apartments, and they occupy the bottom floor; Annie lives on the second by herself. It’s cozy, if haphazardly arranged - the front dining room is occupied by a dining room table probably twice their combined age, chairs that look like they were picked up off the side of the road, Bert’s turntable and precious record collection, and of course bookcases that spill over onto the floor, onto said table, and even down the hall.

“Nice organization,” Jean mutters, and Marco smacks him on the arm.

“Sorry, princess,” Reiner winks at him, “If we’d known you were coming sooner we’d’ve tidied to suit your tastes. As it was, we were only expecting Annie.”

Jean scowls, and Marco nudges him until he sighs.

“...it smells good, though.”

“Don’t it? That’s my little housewife!” Reiner calls down the hall before turning back to them. “It’s all part of his kitchen fantasy.”

Bert leans shyly out around the doorway at the end of the hall.

“Hi Marco. Hi Jean. It’s nice to see you outside of work.”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks for having us over.”

“Lemme take your coats…” Reiner goes to hang them up, and Bert slinks down the hall toward them.

“No, really, thank you. Last season ended pretty rough for us, but there’s strength in numbers.” He looks a big chagrinned. “That and Marco is a pretty calming influence.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Jean folds his arms and leans slightly toward Marco, who nearly swoons. “It’s a little ridiculous.”

“Jean you’re so sweet.”

Jean looks like he’s about to retort with something snarky when a strange slinky black thing brushes against his leg and he nearly jumps into Marco’s arms.

“Holy fucking shit what is that thing!”

“Siggy, there you are!” Bert kneels down and holds out his hand. The animal -lithe, furry, low to the ground, too big to be a ferret, but not quite the right size for a cat- goes to him immediately, winding up his arm to perch on his shoulder. “Were you sleeping? Silly girl. We have company.”

“Oh good,” Reiner rejoins them, and for once doesn’t look genial. “Siggy’s up. Great.”

“Come help me in the kitchen,” Bert reaches up to pet the thing’s head.

“Bert, do not take that thing near our dinner.”

“Reiner,” Bert stops short and turns, suddenly seeming very tall and stern.

Reiner sighs.

“Bert, honey, can you not take Siggy to where she might...shed in the food?”

“...valid point.” Bert turns back around, disappearing into the kitchen. “Come on, sweetie, you can sit in your box and keep me company.”

Jean’s eyes are large, and he’s still holding onto Marco’s arm; Marco can’t seem to find any reason to dislodge him.

“What. The fuck.”

Reiner clears his throat and looks abashed.

“That’s uh...that’s Siggy.”

“What is it?” Jean hisses, then glares up at Marco. “You didn’t warn me about this thing.”

Marco shrugs.

“I’m sorry, I forgot?”

“We think she’s a cat.” Reiner offers.

“I have never seen a cat that looks like that!”

“I know,” the big man hangs his head a little. “I don’t know what happened. We went to the Humane Society to adopt a dog, and Bert took one look at her and fell in love. I tried to talk him out of it, hell even the people who worked there tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t budge. He’s fucking crazy about her, and it’s not like I can refuse him anything.” He leans close to Jean. “Sometimes I wake up at night and she’s on the bed, right near my face. Just staring. Scares the crap out of me.”

“Reiner, can you come help me with something?”

“Sure, babe!” Reiner is back in normal mode, and he jogs to the kitchen. “Whatcha need?”

Jean twists around to glare at Marco.

“That thing comes near me again, you are going to owe me big time.”

Marco smiles wanly.

“That seems to be the theme of the day.”

-

The TV -a 50 inch screen that impresses even Jean- takes up one wall of the living room. The rest of the space is consumed by a coffee table and an L-shaped couch so wide that Marco can’t imagine how they managed to get through any of the doorways in the house. That’s that’s where they eat, chatting mostly about store business until Reiner takes it upon himself to outline the finer points of his viewing rules.

“-and if you have any questions about past plot points, don’t just talk over the dialogue. Ask me to pause, and I will. I’d rather not have to, though, since you should have just gone to the link I gave you. Now if you want to use the restroom-”

Marco’s sure that his eyes glaze over after a while, and Jean seems more concerned with devouring several helpings of dinner than listening to anything Reiner has to say. Bert, however, seems quietly pleased with Jean’s enthusiasm for his cooking, and dutifully keeps Siggy from getting close to him. When the dishes are carried back to the kitchen, they finally start the show. Reiner and Bert cuddle on one end of the couch and Jean and Marco occupy the other. Marco can’t help wondering if their unspoken agreement not to reveal the advances in their relationship could possibly be pushed aside for comfortable TV viewing, but Jean seems content to just let their legs touch. He’s a little disappointed, but he won’t push it.

He’s able to follow the show a little - whoever died last season seems to have left behind a grieving widow who is totally despondent, everything is entirely too regal and complicated, and there’s a ridiculous number of servants who all have intense convoluted relationships- but it’s clearly not holding Jean’s attention much. He shifts around a lot. At one point, when Bert is too occupied to keep an eye on Siggy, she wanders over near them and Jean spends a while trying to shoo her away with a pillow until she retreats to somewhere behind the TV. Eventually he goes still and a short time later Marco feels a weight leaning against him.

“You okay?” he asks, turning to Jean and finding himself staring directly into his hair.

“Mm,” Jean responds, “I’m fine.”

He sounds tired. Possibly against his better judgement, Marco raises his arm, wrapping it around Jean’s shoulders so he can lean against him more comfortably. Jean sighs sleepily, nuzzling into Marco’s neck, hand resting on his chest. It’s not long before his breath is slow and even.

And Jean may now be asleep but Marco is wide awake, whole body surging with warmth and affection and excitement. It wouldn’t matter if everyone on the TV suddenly starting eating each other or pummeling one another with sacks of nails, there might as well be nothing else in this room but Jean against him. Sure, it’s not how he’d planned for this evening to go, but he finds himself not regretting it in the least. It may not be kissing in a car, it may even be considered kind of domestic and boring, but he wouldn’t even mind if they watched this convoluted drama for a few more hours if it meant getting to keep Jean close like this.

Eventually, though, his arm falls asleep, and after about three episodes, Reiner and Bert untangle themselves from one another, the former yawning hugely.

“Well that wasn’t as bad as I had expected.”

“I’m worried about Edith,” Bert sighs, “As usual. Nothing good has ever happened to her, and I can’t believe it would start now.”

“What about you guys?” Reiner turns to them. “What did you- oh.”

Marco smiles wryly and shrugs carefully so as not to dislodge Jean.

“It seemed like a very interesting show? I’m sure it’s better if you’ve been following the past few seasons.”

“I think it’s safe to say Jean wasn’t very impressed,” Bert raises an eyebrow.

“...I don’t think it’s his style?”

“No, but it turns out you sure are.” Reiner gives him a sly smile. “Look at him, he’s like a puppy, he’s so happy to be all up on you like that.”

“Reiner,” Marco blushes, “He’s asleep, not groping me.”

“It’s just a hop, skip and a jump away. And to think, last week you were worried he was banging some chick.”

“We’re...feeling things out,” Marco finds himself reaching to stroke Jean’s cheek. He’s rewarded with a soft sigh.

“Well thanks for letting us bore you for a few hours. I’m sure you have a lot of feeling each other up to do-”

“Reiner,” Bert rolls his eyes.

“-But so do we-”

“Reiner!”

“So you should probably take sleeping beauty there home before things get too scandalous. Downton puts me in ‘the mood.’” He stage whispers the last part, and Bert sweats a little.

“Yeah, roger that. Hey,” Marco shakes Jean’s arm a little. “Jean.”

“Mmmuughh?” He says blearily, struggling to open his eyes. “What, I’m paying attention to the show, everyone’s English ‘n shit.”

“Show’s over,” Marco bumps their foreheads together lightly. “You slept through it like a loser.”

“..............................oh.”

“Come on.” Marco pushes Jean into an upright position, then stands up to take his hands and pull him off the couch. “Let’s get you home.”

“Sorry I missed the show,” Jean mumbles as their get into their coats and shoes. “But thanks for dinner.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Bert smiles. “Thank you for coming over. Sorry we didn’t get to talk too much. I promise next time we'll be more entertaining, we've just been waiting for this for ages.”

“Yeah, next time we’ll watch something that’ll keep you awake.” Reiner chuckles.

“Or something we could possibly talk during without fear of reprecussions?” Marco prompts.

“I’ll consider it,” Reiner folds his arms across his broad chest. “Really, though, thanks you guys, for seeing us through these delicate first episodes.”

“Good night,” Bert calls as they head out the door, then, “Ahh! Siggy no! Bad Siggy, we do not go crawling in the bushes at night! Reiner get her out!”

Marco hustles Jean into the car before they get roped into recapturing Bert’s bizarre pet. Jean promptly dozes off again once the car is warm and moving, and Marco takes the longest way possible back. Maybe it’s weird, but short of the moments just after a kiss, this is the most relaxed he’s ever seen Jean, and he wants to savor it.

As it nears midnight, though, he finally pulls up in front of Jean’s apartment and leans over the gear shift to kiss him softly on the cheek. Jean grunts and turns his head enough so their mouths meet, slow and lazy.

“...we at my house?” Jean asks tiredly when it ends, eyes just barely open.

“Yeah. And although I’d like to spend another night in the car with you, and you should get to bed.”

Jean sighs, and struggles to undo his seatbelt.

“I dunno why I’m so tired.”

"We have stayed out late the past two nights."

"Yeah, I guess." He scritches under his hat with a finger. "...I didn't fuck anything up, right?"

“You didn’t fuck anything up. I had a nice night. Reiner and Bert are actually just totally boring people who were happy to have company and it was peaceful, just being with them. And you.”

“Would’ve been better if it was just us, but...Bert’s a good cook.”

“Yeah.” Marco feels like a little part of him is leaving with Jean as he slides out into the night. “Hey, am I gonna see you tomorrow?”

Jean stops, leaning back in, covering a yawn with the back of his hand.

“At work or…?”

“Either.”

“I work tomorrow, but if we keep seeing each other like this, you’re gonna get sick of me.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Marco smiles. “We’ll talk at the store. Good night, Jean.”

“Good night Marco,” Jean parrots back, slamming the car door and stumbling up the crusty snow to his doorway.

Marco stays long enough to make sure he gets in, then drives home. His own bed looks decidedly empty, but he as he undresses he realizes that his shirt smells like Jean from where he spent those hours against him. He debates with himself for a moment, then makes a decision.

No one will know if he puts the shirt on a pillow and holds it while he falls asleep. It’ll do for now. Maybe soon, though, he'll have the real thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure everything is going to go tremendously well from this point on. 
> 
> ...really.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every new relationship has a kind of honeymoon phase, and Marco is more than happy to revel in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every week gets shorter. Sorry for the later-afternoon update today, I was summoned to work at 7 AM once more.
> 
> MONKEYSOCKS MADE A MIX FOR THIS FIC. You should absolutely go listen to it [RIGHT HERE](http://8tracks.com/monkehsocks/can-you-feel-it-the-way-i-do) because it is extraordinary and beautiful and perfect. It nearly made me cry. I'm so in love with it. 
> 
> You know what else is stunning, though? All of you, who read, comment, leave kudos, or visit me on tumblr. I continue to be humbled by the response this fic has generated, and I'm so grateful. 
> 
> This fic would not be, though, without the Maruosity of [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) (do you have your copy of her new book yet?), the WIFI-fish using [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and #1 Siggy Supported [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), and the amazing [Monkeysocks,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) who is a delight to the mind and the senses.

Thursday brings sleet and Erwin Smith. 

The district manager arrives like the paragon of human perfection that he is: somehow, the messy snow-rain in his hair only seems to highlight its unnecessarily golden sheen, and when he wipes his feet on the rug and sweeps his dripping bangs back from his face, a customers walks directly into one of the display tables. 

As he stops to check if she’s all right and correct the displaced books, Connie (at the register) nods at Marco (at intake), then speaks into his headset.

“We have our first confirmed Erwin-related casualty, over.”

“I’ll start the tally,” Armin sighs in response. 

“Come on lucky number three!” Sasha says. 

Marco rolls his eyes, but there’s always a bet going when Erwin stops by the store, and not even Marco is entirely immune to the effect. He finds himself blushing a little as Erwin nods at him -“Good to see you’re back in working order, Marco”- and he can’t help leaning out over the counter to watch as he continues towards the back room, coat flaring out dramatically. He catches sight of Sasha doing the same thing further down. 

Levi opens the “employees only” door an instant before Erwin, face screwed into even more of an unimpressed sneer than usual. 

“You’re late,” he says, “And dripping on my fucking floor.”

“The roads weren’t in particularly good condition,” the smile is audible in Erwin’s voice even at a distance, “And as much as I would have liked to get here sooner-” The warm tone fades as the door closes behind him. 

“Hate to watch him go, but I love to watch him leave,” Sasha purrs into the microphone, and at the register Connie seems to twitch slightly. 

“He’ll be here all day, Sasha,” Marco glances back at the front door. Erwin’s dramatic entrances are enjoyable, sure, but he’s waiting for someone with significantly less panache to come in. 

“Yeah, everyone’ll get their fair share of ogling time,” Connie sounds less enthusiastic about asses than usual, and Marco is about to ask him what’s wrong when Jean sops through the door quickly, not even pausing when Connie yells “It’s too early in the year to go swimming!” after him. 

He reappears a few minutes later, rubbing his hair dry with of the spare work shirts from the back, and looking a bit shell-shocked.

“Why is Captain America in the office?”

Marco blinks at him, then laughs. 

“That’s Erwin, the district manager. You haven’t met him yet?”

“No,” Jean drops the damp shirt on the counter. “I mean, I know my transfer went through him, but we’ve never officially talked or anything.” He runs his hands through his hair, trying to shape it, and it’s all Marco can do not to offer to fix it for him. “No one told me he was a fucking J. Crew model.”

“He’s something, isn’t he?” Sasha joins them. “Bert can’t even look him in the eye, he starts sweating so bad-”

“How is that different from usual?” Connie calls with a huff. “Bert can’t look most houseplants in the eye without sweating!”

“I’d sweat if I was looking at a houseplant with eyes,” Marco shrugs, then looks back at Jean. “Connie is one of the few people relatively unaffected by Erwin’s charms.”

“Levi didn’t seem too pleased with him,” Jean muses, looking at Marco sideways. 

“Levi always looks constipated, that’s just his face.” Sasha waves her hand dismissively. “It just gets a little worse when Erwin is around for some reason. Connie, come on, turn that frown upside down, you know when Erwin comes he buys the Starbucks treats!”

“I guess I can’t resist that aspect of his visits,” Connie brightens a little and Sasha beams, wandering over to rub his head and say something to him quietly. 

Jean is still looking at Marco, though, and he shifts a little.

“What?”

“So if you’re on the Erwin bandwagon…”

Marco blushes, laughing softly. 

“I like Erwin, I think he’s a great guy who’s excellent at his job and nice to look at. But he’s not my type.”

“No?” Jean leans on the counter, expression sly. “What is your type, then?”

Marco raises his eyebrows. 

“Seriously?”

“I’m just curious.”

He shifts toward Jean, so their noses are just inches apart.

“My type is someone who is dangerously close to getting kissed if he’s not careful.”

“I better warn him when I see him. I bet that’s not work appropriate.”

“A lot of things I want to do to him aren’t work appropriate,” he says without thinking. Jean stiffens, eyes widening. Marco immediately regrets saying it and steps back and away, turning toward one of the computers and staring at it dumbly. “I mean, uh…wow. I definitely did not mean to say that.”

“....um,” Jean scratches at his nose, “Maybe uh...you and he should discuss this later.”

“....yeah?” Marco turns slightly.

“Yeah,” Jean seems suddenly very occupied with looking at his fingernails. “You um, should come over to his house again tonight. I mean, if you want to...talk about...things.”

“I do.” Marco hopes he doesn’t sound pathetically excited. “I really do. When should I-”

“You must be Jean.”

They both look up at Erwin’s voice. He’s appeared with all the stealth of Annie, Levi an angry be-hooded figure next to him. Marco has always known their manager was short, but it never fails to surprise him just how little he looks next to Erwin (not that he would ever dare say anything about it where Levi could hear). 

Erwin holds out his hand. For his part, Jean looks adorably tongue-tied, staring at the hand like it might bite or caress him, not certain which would be worse. He finally manages to shake it, and Erwin’s expression is as pleased as Levi’s isn’t. 

“I’m glad to meet you. I heard good things about you from Nile, it’s a pleasure to have you working for us here now.”

“Me,” says Levi snarkily, “He works for me here. He works for you, and ‘us’ in general.”

“My apologies, Levi. How could I ever forget how territorial you are.”

Levi grunts and starts walking again. 

“Could we get going? I’m so hungry I feel nauseous, and that’s the worst.”

“Hold on,” Erwin reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a little notebook. “Levi and I will stop at Starbucks on the way back from lunch. Armin gave me the drink list, but apparently you, Jean, keep your beverage of choice a secret.”

Jean blushes fiercely.

“I don’t need anything…”

“Don’t be shy,” Erwin urges, and Marco is both seduced by the older man and jealous of him. How dare he take that tone with Jean. How dare he ask Jean what he drinks when he won’t even tell Marco?

But Jean swallows and says quietly, “Peppermint tea.”

“Really?!” Marco blurts out, and Jean glares at him. He drops his head.

“Really.”

“Peppermint tea.” Erwin writes down. “Excellent. We’ll be back before too long.”

He tucks the notebook away again and strides to where Levi waits impatiently at the door. They’re gone into the sleet before Marco dares to look at Jean again. 

“You got a problem with my hot leaf juice?” He looks ruffled and pouty. It only makes Marco want to ruffle him more, but he needs to be good right now.

“No, I’m just surprised, although I guess I shouldn’t be. You said you didn’t drink coffee from day one, I just never would have thought…”

Jean clears his throat and raises a hand to his mouth, biting his thumbnail as he looks away. 

“I used to drink coffee, I just...I got an ulcer when…I mean, in law school. Cuz of poor choices and stress.” He shrugs, teeth clicking sharply together as the nail slides out from between them. “My doctor made me switch to herbal tea. The ulcer got better, but the peppermint tea just kind of stuck.”

Ulcers shouldn’t be romantic. If he thinks too hard about it, it’s painful, gross. It makes him wonder how badly law school damaged Jean that his body turned against him on top of everything else. But it also occurs to him that both of them have had rebellious organs, and he wants to use it as a way of saying “we’re really not so different, and together we could be so good.”

Instead, he says, “If you had a scar, I’d ask to see it.”

Jean looks at Marco like he’s lost his goddamn mind.

“I mean,” Marco struggles to find something both work-safe and not utterly batshit, “Since we both… I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

Jean gives a low laugh.

“It’s possible I’ve been spending too much time with you, but I think I know what you’re trying to say.”

“Yeah?”

“And if you want to compare scars, I already asked you first.” 

Marco exhales slowly. 

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, so do you wanna come over again?”

“I’d like that. I’d really, really like that.”

“Cool,” Their faces are so close again he can feel Jean’s words against his own mouth. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“I-” Marco happens to flick his eyes toward the register where Connie and Sasha and even Armin are staring at them open-mouthed. “Iiiiiii have work to do and so do you!”

Jean frowns, then follows his gaze and jumps away from the buy counter when he sees their audience. He scowls, mutters something like “fuckin’ gawkers” and scuttles toward the back. 

Sasha slowly raises her hands, extending her index fingers and then poking them at each other while staring intensely at Marco. She mouths something that's probably "touching boners?"

“Oh my god, you guys, no!” Marco rubs his face with his hands, then peers over them. He looks around to make sure Jean is gone, and then hurries to the counter. “Not yet anyway, all right, come on, knock it off he’s still shy!”

“What’s he got to be shy about?” Connie grins. “We’re just one big happy family of incest and beverages, right?”

Armin smiles weakly at Marco.

“Congratulations. Looks like something good came out of our conversation after all.”

Marco wants to ask Armin what’s going on with him and Annie, and Eren for that matter, but he then he remembers Connie and Sasha’s mercilessly gossipy natures and stays quiet. He’ll have to seek him out later, if he can wrench his mind away from the idea of taking his shirt off for Jean this evening. 

“Just...be chill about it, okay you guys? For a little while longer.”

“Does Ymir know?”

“Yes of course Ymir knows.”

“Dude,” Connie rubs his hands together, “Her party is going to be even more awesome. I can’t wait until he sees you drunk, he doesn’t even know what he’s in for.”

“Right, anyway,” Armin shakes his head, “We have jobs to do.”

“Who made you the boss?” Sasha links arms with him. “Come on, little prince, escort me to my section.”

Marco makes his way back to intake just as a soggy sale comes through the door. The books are wet, the cd cases leave puddles on the counter. Somehow, though, he can’t bring himself to mind. 

-

The day lasts an eternity. When Bert and Reiner arrive for the closing shift, Connie immediately beckons them over, and Marco is sure they’re comparing notes on his lovelife; as long as they’re quiet, he finds he doesn’t entirely mind. Erwin manages to stun another customer into tripping over their own feet, and every time Jean walks past him, Marco swears he can catch a hint of peppermint in the air. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to smell it again without getting an erection.

In the late afternoon, just before Marco leaves, the leak in the back corner moves from being an inconvenience to an actual problem. The relentless sleet has melted some of the ice and snow on the roof, and cracks in the old building have wended their way down through the walls and opened up under the psychology section, soaking the carpet to a point where stepping down too hard makes it spit icy water across your shoes. 

Levi is livid. Erwin stands next to him, contemplating the lagoon with one hand on his hip and the other weirdly on Levi’s shoulder. Armin is nearby too, making suggestions. It impresses Marco that Levi is managing to discuss the issue without swearing too much or too loudly, but he doesn’t really have time to contemplate it - he needs to go home and shower before he sees Jean. He makes a mental note to text Armin later and ask what’s going on.

He’s spending entirely too much time trying to choose a shirt when Jean finally texts him to say he’s home. Marco is sure he’s never concentrated harder on driving safely in winter weather conditions; if he could, he’d floor it the whole way, but he won’t take the chance of some horrible fiery accident getting in the way of this evening. He makes one stop: at a gas station, to pick up a frozen pizza, even though he’s sure food is going to be the last thing on his mind. 

Jean is opening the door as he bounds up the steps, and he barely manages to set the pizza down on the arm of the couch and take off his wet coat before they’re on each other as though they’ve been apart for years instead of hours. He would swear he can still taste the tea on Jean’s tongue even though he’s sure it’s mostly his imagination. 

“Your hair’s wet,” Jean muses when they stop to breathe. “And that’s a different shirt than you had on at work. Did you shower for me?”

“And if I did?” Marco moves in for another kiss, but Jean pulls back with a smile. 

“I’d say that’s pretty classy. But I’d also ask what you were expecting.”

“I thought we were going to talk about what was and wasn’t work appropriate. We could just eat pizza and watch a movie again, though.”

Jean pretends to think a moment, then takes Marco’s hand. 

“I’m not that hungry right now.”

“Good,” Marco follows him to his bedroom once again, head almost spinning with how unbelievable this is. “I’m not either.”

The only illumination is the lamp on the nightstand next to Jean’s massive bed, and it bathes the room in an amber glow. It feels even closer than last time, and Jean lets go of his hand to crawl onto the bed, flopping back into the pillows, then tentatively motioning for Marco to come join him. Marco toes off his shoes and climbs after him gingerly, barely daring to think that he’s actually made it this far. He’s on Jean’s bed. Jean sleeps here. Here where Marco is right now. He might just pass out.

He lets himself down next to Jean carefully, trying to keep his breathing even. They look at each other for several long moments, the ardor from the door suddenly replaced with a kind of shyness.

“...you have a lot of pillows,” he finally says lamely. 

“I like pillows,” Jean replies, equally as lame, and after a moment they both laugh a little. “Wow, you suck.”

“I suck? You’re the one whose attempt at seduction stopped when we got in here.” Something rustles behind him and he grins. “Is it because the girls are in here? Are you worried of what they’ll think?” He turns to look at the cage. “Evening, ladies. Lovely to see you again. Don’t mind us, just go about your business…”

“Fuck off, Marco,” Jean crawls past him, tossing a stray t-shirt over the side of the cage. “There, now they’re protected from anything inappropriate.”

“They still have ears, don’t they?”

“Marco fucking Bodt,” Jean looks at him, “Just what do you think we’re going to do here?”

Marco bites his lip and wonders if he should point out that one of the words Jean just used is at the forefront of his mind for suitable activities. _No,_ he reminds himself, _take it slow._

“Well,” he says, “You wanted to see my scar, and I might be so horribly disfigured that you end up wailing to the heavens. I’m sure that would distress the gerbils greatly.”

Jean rolls his eyes. 

“Try me.”

“All right. You asked for it.”

But as Marco starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, he finds his hands shaking, and he can’t seem to get a good grip on them. _This is stupid,_ Ymir-voice hisses at him, _it’s not like you’ve never taken your shirt off for someone before._

_No,_ he thinks, _but I’ve never taken my shirt off for_ Jean _before._ It’s been many years since he was so absolutely in love with someone, and even then it was a young love, something new and hopeful; he’s older now, he’s had his heart broken and broken others. He knows that kisses aren’t promises and sex isn’t a contract, but what he feels for Jean is so deep he wonders if he’ll ever touch the bottom. Considering that, having reached the point of undressing for him feels like he's won an epic prize. 

“Do you need a hand with that?” Jean asks finally, and Marco looks up at him sheepishly. 

“I might.”

“Idiot,” Jean sighs warmly, reaching for the buttons. “Some master of seduction you are. I don’t know why those temps were falling all over each other for you if you can’t even take off a fucking shirt.”

“God only knows,” Marco closes his eyes, brushing his nose against Jean’s hair. 

The buttons finally undone, Marco feels the hint of Jean’s fingers as they slide under the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Arms up,” Jean says, and Marco obliges. The shirt goes over his head and his hands follow it up, smoothing his hair back down into proper shape. 

“Holy shit!” Jean blanches, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s not looking at the surgical scar: he’s looking at Marco’s double nipple piercing. 

“Oh.” Marco flushes. “Uh. Yeah.”

“What the hell is that!” Jean leans closer. “You have…” His eyes flip up to Marco’s. “You! Of all people!”

Marco gives a half smile and shrugs. 

“I keep telling you, I’m not what you think I am.”

“You have a fucking pierced nipple. Like uber-pierced.”

“I do?” He looks down at the four little silver balls. “Wow, I do. What a shock.”

“It’s a fucking shock to me!” Jean grabs a pillow and smacks him with it. “I expected a scar, not a jewelry show!”

“The scar is on the other side!” Marco puts his hands up to defend himself. “I’ve had this for so long I honestly don’t even think about it anymore!”

Jean huffs, tossing the pillow aside and sitting back on his heels. 

“How long?”

“Since I was...19, I think? I lost a bet with Ymir.”

Jean’s eyes narrow.

“I should have known she’d have something to do with it.”

“To be fair, she has hers pierced too. It ended up being a cousin-bonding thing.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to think about how weird that is.” Jean makes a face. “Piercings are bad enough as it is.”

Marco feels his heart sink a little. 

“What do you mean?”

“I got my eyebrow pierced in high school.” Jean indicates the spot and Marco leans forward. Now that he’s looking, he can just barely see a scar at the end of the hairy line. “It got infected. Hurt like a bitch. Never again.”

“I’m sorry,” Marco says, wondering if maybe he should put his shirt back on. “I didn’t know. Do you want me to…” He trails off. What is he going to do, offer to take them out? Would he be willing to do that for Jean? He honestly feels like the piercings are a part of him now, and he sure Ymir would sock him if she found out he got rid of them. 

“Okay, um,” Jean is playing with the hem of his hoodie now. “When I said ‘piercings are bad’ I meant, like… for me. I’m not...good with them.” Marco looks at him helplessly, about to ask if he should get dressed and leave when Jean speaks again. “But yours…” He clears his throat. “You look good. They suit you. I was just surprised, cuz...I wasn’t expecting it. But it’s okay. It’s fine. You um...”

“Jean-”

“You look hot,” he finishes, and Marco’s concerns and disappointment start to melt away. 

“...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jean quickly shifts to look lower, and grimaces. “That’s not hot, though.”

Marco laughs. The line across his right side hasn’t started to fade yet, dark red against his winter-pale skin, and very few freckles on his chest to distract from it. 

“To be honest, I don’t think about that much anymore either,” he says, “Unless I’m getting hit with cds.”

“That was your own fault.” Jean reaches out a hand, then pauses. “Can I...touch it?”

“Which,” Marco feels his heart start to race, “The scar or my piercings?”

“.....both?” Jean asks, sounding both terrified and hopeful. 

“Yeah,” he’s certain he’s nodding like an idiot. “...if you want.”

Jean doesn’t respond this time, but walks closer on his knees, settling down on his left side next to Marco. His right hand brushes against the raised skin so faintly Marco wonders if he’s imagined it, but then the touch becomes more sure. 

“It really doesn’t hurt?”

“Not when you’re being that gentle, no.”

“And this,” his fingers trace up his chest to his nipple. “This doesn’t hurt either?”

Marco can’t help gasping. Sure, one of the benefits of the piercings is that they’ve made him more sensitive in an area that hadn’t really been before. But he’s certain that more than the purely physical aspects of it, the fact that Jean is touching him is what sends jagged bolts of pleasure straight down. 

“No,” he drops his head back a little. “Not even a little.”

“Apparently not,” Jean’s voice is low with something Marco recognizes as lust.

He sees Jean’s face lowering to his chest and his tongue darting out the instant before he feels it. He moans so loudly it’s obscene, and he feels his legs spreading apart as his pants rapidly become way too tight. 

“No, this doesn’t seem to hurt you at all,” Jean murmurs, sliding over Marco’s thigh to kneel between his legs, touching his tongue to Marco’s skin again and then following it with his mouth, sucking carefully.

Marco isn’t sure he’s even been this hard in his life. His hands find Jean’s hips and tug at his sweatshirt, wanting it gone even though he regrets the motion when it means Jean has to leave his nipple for a moment. He tugs the hoodie off and Jean is just as bare-chested as Marco, skin pink with arousal.

“Oh,” Marco manages weakly, trying not to just drown in want, “I hope you didn’t go to work like that.”

“Not very appropriate, is it?”

“For the store, no.” Marco sits up and wraps his arms around Jean’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. “For right here right now? It’s perfect.”

“Aren’t you romantic,” Jean stretches out a leg to straddle him and for the first time Marco feels Jean’s clothed-but-straining cock brush against his. He grinds into it almost unconsciously and Jean makes a small sound in his throat. 

“Is this okay?” It comes out as a desperate mostly-whisper, but quickly turns into a groan as Jean presses back against him. 

“I got on top of you, didn’t I?”

“You’re answering my questions with questions again,” Marco tries to smile.

Jean pinches his nipple and his head falls back again, eyes fluttering closed.

“Shut the fuck up, Marco,” he says, leaning to kiss him again as his hand slips down between them, resting on the waistline of Marco's jeans. And then he moves. 

It’s not artful. It’s not poetic or thoughtful or even particularly graceful. They rut against each other, fast and rough like teenagers rushing to finish before a parent gets home. 

What it is, though, is hot beyond Marco’s already vivid imagination. His hand follows Jean’s to their laps, each fumbling with the other’s fly as they gasp into one another’s mouths. Marco is sure he’s started leaking into his own boxers, but he can’t help nearly gasping at how wet Jean is, the head of his cock already soaked with precome and still dripping. 

“Oh god, Jean,” he manages, then swallowing whatever response the other man might have made. 

When those dry, chapped fingers he loves so much curl around his length it’s all he can do not to come instantly, and he wraps his hand around Jean’s tightly to slow him down. Ever the contrary asshole, though, Jean tears their mouths apart to nudge at each side of the piercings with his tongue. Marco will worry later if the sound he makes carries through to the next apartment. 

In a not at all clever attempt to fight back, he pulls Jean’s cock towards his own. He worries briefly that it’s too forward, that he’s gone too far, but then Jean is bending Marco’s fingers around both of them, and moving his hand up and down for him as he pulls hard on his nipple. 

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s not even close to one of his tamer fantasies and it’s more sexy than he ever could’ve dreamed. He slides his hand up Jean’s back and Jean arches into the touch so beautifully, so perfectly, that Marco can’t hold back any longer and he comes, hot and hard over both of their hands, on his own stomach, on Jean’s. Jean’s mouth is suddenly on his again, all the sounds he makes are into it, against his tongue as Jean forces his hand to keep moving, jerking himself off with Marco’s come until he shudders violently against him, their teeth clacking together as Jean finishes, adding to the hot slick mess sliding down his pelvis. 

Marco swears he whites out for a second, coming back when Jean’s forehead is pressed firmly against his and they’re gasping against each other’s mouths. It lasts another moment, and then Jean is flopping off to the side, back of his hand resting on his forehead, eyes closed. Gradually, the panting slows to normal breathing, but Jean’s eyes stay shut. The mess on Marco’s stomach starts to grow uncomfortably cool, and he wonders if he’s suddenly terribly misjudged everything when Jean cracks an eye open to peer at him. 

“...so uh…that was...that was okay, right?”

“..............are you fucking kidding me?” Marco snorts out an ugly laugh. Jean looks horrified, and that only makes him laugh harder. “Jean, god, are you really…” He makes himself try to stop laughing. “Are you really worried?”

One look at Jean’s face tells him that yes, he is worried, and Marco sobers quickly, reaching out to him with his come-free hand. Jean turns away a little, and Marco scootches over after him, turning his face back to look at him. 

“Hey.” he says.

“I told you, I haven’t fucked a million guys like some people, I-”

“If you mean me, it's hardly close to a million guys, but Jean,” Marco kisses him softly. “That was great.” Jean loosens up. “...For starters.”

Jean shoves him away, sliding off the edge of the bed to stand up.

“Oh my god, you are such an asshole.” He’s trying to be angry, but Marco can see the cracks in the facade. “And what do you fucking mean ‘for starters?’ What do you think this is, a restaurant? Was that an appetizer?”

“I don’t know,” Marco pushes himself up, using his middle finger to catch a stream of sticky white before it gets on the comforter. “I guess that depends on if you want seconds or not?”

Jean hedges a little. 

“I’m not...we only just...I’m not ready for…” He scratches his forehead distractedly. “You know, the whole...buttfuckery, not...not tonight, but…”

“Jean,” Marco reaches for him, catching him by the belt loop of and realizing that Jean’s cock is hanging awkwardly over the waistband over his boxers, his abdomen splattered in come and wet with sweat, and that Marco probably doesn’t look any less ridiculous. It makes him oddly proud. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“The thing is though?” Jean rubs the back of his head, looking coy and sultry and almost sure of himself. “I want to do so much.”

“Come back to the bed.”

“I’m getting hungry, though, we should start the...shit! We didn’t put the pizza in the freezer when you got here!” He smushes his hands around on the bed until he finds his phone under a pillow, checking the time. “How long has it been?”

Marco shrugs.

“I wasn’t really paying attention. The pizza may be a lost cause. We might have to order take out.” He smiles as Jean sits back down on the edge of the bed, already dialing the pizza place. “You know I eat really badly when I’m around you.”

“Well someday we’ll have a fancy dinner date at a real restaurant with flowers on the table. Yeah hi, I want to place an order for delivery?”

Marco notices that the shirt over the side of the gerbil cage has fallen down a bit, and that two little faces are peering through the bars. He waves at them cheerfully and they bound away into the depths of their palatial estate. Marco turns back to Jean, watching a bead of sweat slide down his neck. He wants to lick it away. 

“Okay.” Jean tosses the phone onto the floor. “They said it would be half an hour to 45 minutes.”

“What could we possibly do for half an hour to 45 minutes?” Marco realizes he’s finally letting himself look at Jean’s chest. At his strong arms. At his slim, toned stomach, the sharp hips, and at the penis still untucked from its clothed safety and starting to swell again. His own cock twitches and his mouth waters. He wants a better look. He wants to see everything, touch everything, taste everything until he’s drunk on Jean and then he wants more, until he can’t see or stand or think.

Jean shifts a little, looking uncomfortable, and moves to cover himself with his hand. Marco reaches out and stops him, lacing their fingers together and kissing him softly. 

“I said, what could we possibly do?”

“You look like you already have something in mind,” Jeans says warily. 

“You know how I said you suck that time, and you’ve held it against me ever since then?”

“Yeah…”

Marco slides off the bed, and kneels in front of Jean. He feels bold as he pushes Jean’s legs apart. He feels sure of himself and ready and hungry, but not for pizza, not even close. 

“As an apology, let me show you how much I suck.”

“Ugh, that was so bad, Marco, that was sooOH GOD!”

-

If the delivery guy objects to having the box grabbed out of his hands and forty dollars flung at him before the door slams in his face, Marco doesn’t know and doesn’t care. The second pizza of the evening makes it as far as the kitchen counter before it too is temporarily ignored so that Jean can tie the orgasm score even though Marco assures him it’s fine. 

“God damn,” he grumbles, eyes still fixed on Marco’s piercings as he works his hand over Marco’s cock, “How long is this gonna take!”

Marco laughs, his throat still raw from giving head for the first time in ages. 

“It always takes me a little longer the second time. If you’re going to complain about it, you don’t have to do it!”

“I’m not gonna let you hold it over me that I got to come twice!”

“It’s not a contest, Jean,” Marco reaches for him, tilting Jean’s head up and then leaning forward enough to kiss him. 

Jean looks a little dubious about the kiss ( _probably worried about tasting his own come,_ Marco thinks; he’d insisted Marco didn’t have to swallow, but at that point it would have taken several nuclear explosions in close proximity for Marco to remove Jean from his mouth) but eventually goes into it. Marco cards his hands through Jean’s hair, revelling in the texture changes from the shorter bits in back to the longer part on top. This is everything he imagined and nothing like it. It’s so much better. 

“Come on,” Jean murmurs against his mouth, “My hand is getting tired, your dick is too big.”

It’s hard to tell if it’s meant to be a compliment or a complaint, but Marco can’t help swelling in pride in several places, and a short time later saves Jean from developing carpal tunnel by finishing with a muffled shout. It’s less this time, but the effect feels like it goes deeper, and it’s a few minutes before Marco finds himself ready to move or think.

“Wow,” he smiles at Jean, who is poking at his piercings gently with his index finger. Marco could get used to Jean's fascination with them. 

Jean looks up, still blushing in spite of everything, and smiles a little. 

“I realize it uh...might kill the mood, but I really am actually starving now. You wanna eat?” He sees Marco’s grin and rolls his eyes. “You wanna eat something other than my penis?”

“Yeah,” Marco kisses his nose. “We overpaid for it by about twenty dollars, I think we should eat it.”

The cheese and grease have congealed and the pineapple is limp, but they finish most of it in record time. Sex is hungry work, after all. When they push the nearly empty box aside, Marco finds he’s definitely ready for a nap, but Jean wants to take a shower. He shyly extends Marco the invitation to join him.

“That’s okay,” Marco grabs his shirt and wipes it across his chest and stomach to prevent more sweat and old come from staining Jean’s bed, “I’ll get the next one. I’ve had some bad dual shower experiences.”

Jean raises an eyebrow.

“I was honestly inviting you to just shower, not whatever is going on in your filthy mind.”

“I know,” Marco settles into the pile of pillows, smiling. “But someone always hogs the hot water or bangs their something on something, and it’s just not worth it. Go on, I’ll shower after you and I promise not to make your bed too gross.”

Jean snorts.

“That’s already a lost cause.”

While Jean showers, Marco takes a little while to just revel in everything that’s happened. He can barely process it all. He’s not sure if he should actually tell Ymir right away this time; it feel private and special, something he wants to keep between the two of them just a little bit longer. He doesn’t even know if this counts as being friends with benefits or if they really are going to become an actual thing, and he wants them to figure it out on their own time. 

Jean comes back from the bathroom, red towel wound around those perfect hips, and it’s all Marco can do to make himself leave him alone and go take his own shower. There’s something ridiculously sentimental in how excited he is to be using Jean’s soap, Jean’s shampoo. They’ll smell like each other now, even after their sex is washed away. It’s very fitting, and strangely sweet. 

When he returns to the bedroom, he finds Jean clad in flannel pajama pants and his hoodie, IT Crowd on the TV and two little fuzzballs bouncing across the bed. Marco smiles, reaching for his fairly-disgusting-by-now shirt. 

“You can borrow one of my shirts, if you want,” Jean says softly, holding out a hand for one of the gerbils. “I know you’re broader than I am, but something should fit. Second drawer.”

Again on the list of things that should not make Marco ecstatic is rooting through Jean’s dresser, and yet. He finally pulls out dark green shirt reading “TROST LAW” that looks as though it’s never been worn. He tugs it on and it is a bit tight across the chest (his piercings are definitely visible through the fabric now), but it’s comfortable. 

“Is this one all right?”

Jean glances up and frowns a little, then goes back to letting one of the girls -he thinks it’s Teresa- chew on his thumb.

“Looks better on you than it ever would’ve on me. Come over here.”

Marco slides carefully onto the bed, stretching out next to him. The familiar tones of the TV show are soothing, and it’s adorable to watch Jean play with his pets. Jessica bounds up onto his stomach and peers at him, and he lets her sniff his finger. 

_I told you,_ he works on his rodent telepathy again, _I’m going to be so good to him._

“Wow, don’t let me interrupt your psychic moment,” Jean scowls, scooting close to Marco, resting his head on his shoulder. “Jessica, you cheeky enchantress.”

“What can I say,” Marco turns to kiss Jean’s temple then settles against him. “We’ve got a vibe going.”

“Mm,” Jean says, and his eyes drift shut.

A short while later, when it’s clear Jean is probably shutting down for the night, Marco gathers the gerbils from between them and carefully deposits them back in their cage. He returns to the bed, intending to peck Jean’s forehead and then make a quiet exit, when Jean grabs his hand, looking up at him with warm, sleepy eyes. 

“Stay? Just a little bit longer? Until the end of the disc.”

How can he possibly refuse? He climbs back onto the bed and wraps himself around Jean, who fits perfectly into his arms. 

Halfway through the third episode, they crawl under the covers together. When the disc ends, they’re both asleep.

-

Around six in the morning, Marco wakes up enough to extract himself from Jean’s octopus-like hold. 

“Hey,” he kisses him until Jean makes a sound like “ngrrrrhghgh” and looks at him blearily. “I gotta go home and change for work.”

“Mmf.” Jean burrows deeper into the pillow. “Fnn.”

“Use your words, Jean.”

“Fuck you, too early, going back to sleep."

"You have to get up in an hour."

"An hour to keep sleeping. See you at work.”

Marco smiles, kissing him one more time and pausing to poke a finger into the gerbil cage to say goodbye before quietly letting himself out. 

He could sleep another two hours or so, but he’s so wired in the best possible way that it doesn’t seem necessary. He changes his boxers and his come-stained jeans, but when he reaches for the hem of Jean’s t-shirt, he can’t seem to take it off. _It’s clean,_ he decides, _just a little slept in,_ and if he puts a sweater on over it no one will know. He’s in such a good mood he’s even tempted to do the Starbucks run in advance, but he’s not sure who’s on the schedule today, and he doesn’t want to leave someone out. 

It turns out that everyone is on the schedule: Erwin has called an emergency meeting and the entire staff - save for Hanji and Armin manning the front- is assembled in the breakroom when Marco arrives. He sees Jean leaning in a corner and tries to catch his eye. When he does, he winks, and Jean blushes, quickly looking away. 

“First order of business,” Erwin looks around the room, smiling. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day? Shit. Marco had completely forgotten. With everything this week already revolving around the possible love of his life, it just didn’t seem significant. He now notices Connie and Sasha sharing a bag of those chalky candy hearts, but otherwise, the general mood seems less than loving. Levi's especially. 

“More like ‘happy go fuck yourself’ day,” Levi scowls. “We’re closing the store.”

There’s a clatter of low budget treats as the bag of candy hearts is dropped to the floor. Even Annie, who had been staring at the microwave despondently, and Bert who was falling asleep standing up, look at their boss with shocked expressions. 

“Are you serious?!” Eren is holding onto the fridge for support. 

“Everyone, please,” Erwin raises a placating hand, before giving Levi the side-eye. “What Levi meant, and could have said a little better-”

“No sense fucking pussy-footing around it, Erwin-”

“-Is that we’re going to close the store for a few days to repair the leak in the back. It’s getting dangerous and unsanitary. The weather may continue like this, and with spring not too far away, I want to be sure we have the problem solved before it actually damages the shelving and merchandise.”

“Not to mention the carpet is so wet back there you practically need a lifeguard,” Reiner snorts. 

“That as well,” Erwin nods. “So from Sunday through Wednesday, we're going to be closed for repairs to the roof and to dry the carpets and replace them if necessary. I realize it’s very short notice, but we're lucky this is happening now and not at a busier time of year. You should feel free to explain the situation to anyone, especially making customers aware that this in their best interest.”

“Cuz it would suck if someone drowned while looking for a self-help book,” Sasha nods, the candy bag clutched protectively at her chest to prevent any more casualties. 

“Would it really?” Annie mutters darkly, and Marco remembers he never got around to texting Armin. Whoops.

“I will be on hand all day today and tomorrow to personally deal with any extreme customer complaints.” Erwin places his hand on Levi’s shoulder, and Marco notices Eren’s shoulders tensing as he watches the two men. “Please know that Levi, Hanji and I all discussed this situation thoroughly, and any one of us is happy to back you up if there are problems with how the information is received.”

“Yeehaw.” Levi says sulkily. “All right, those of you on shift, get to work, the rest of you...I don’t know, go home and come back later or just go home. You know your schedules, I can’t keep track of them all.”

The meeting disbands, people wandering out of the room, but Marco lingers behind to wait for Jean. Unfortunately, Connie and Sasha also stay with him too, crunching through their candies.

“I guess it’s kind of good though?” Connie swallows. “I mean, it’s getting pretty nuts back there.”

“Also,” Sasha passes absently passes Marco a heart that says “UR CUTE”, “It means that we can go hardcore at Ymir’s party and not worry about showing up to work totally dead the next day.”

“Like you did with Mikasa’s party?” Marco smiles, turning the heart around in his palm.

“Shut up, loser, you slept in and were late.”

“Touche,” Marco eats the heart, glancing over at Jean who has stayed silent this whole time. “And how are you taking this news, Jean?”

The dryness of Jean’s look could wither a tropical rainforest, but Marco can’t help laughing. Connie and Sasha look between them, then at each other, communicating psychically before Sasha also hands Jean a heart. 

“Here. Happy Valentine’s Day. Creepy sexual tension jerks.”

Jean rolls his eyes and heads out of the room, Marco at his heels. Jean glances back over his shoulder, then grabs Marco’s hand, quickly pulling him out of sight behind the shipping desk and kissing him. 

“Mmmmm,” Marco cups his face in both hands, “Good morning.”

“Do you think they know?” Jean asks, staring into the V-neck of Marco’s sweater. “Are you still wearing my shirt?”

“Their spidey-senses seem to be off today,” Marco muses, then flushes happily. “Yeah. Is that okay? I’ll give it back to you if you want…”

“No,” Jean stretches out his fingers, brushing over Marco’s chest and just barely flicking one of the silver bearings under the fabric. Marco twitches, and Jean grins toothily. “I like knowing you’re wearing it.”

“I didn’t remember today was Valentine’s Day.”

“Neither did I. Don’t usually have a reason to.”

“Have any plans for tonight?” 

“Actually,” Jean turns a bit downcast, “I do. I promised my mom I’d Skype with her tonight.”

“Oh,” Marco shouldn’t feel so disappointed. He’s been with Jean every single night this week. One evening apart won’t kill him. “Okay, yeah, that’s important.”

“I promised her last week,” Jean starts to explain, “Before I knew...and now I have some stuff to tell her and-”

“Jean,” Marco leans forward, touching their noses together. “It’s fine. She’s your mom. She worries about you. Talk to her.”

“I’d say we could get together before or after, but I know uh…” Jean pauses to clear his throat, looking down at Marco’s crotch, “I’d be really distracted.”

“And I said, ‘it’s okay.’” Marco quickly swipes at Jean’s lower lip with his tongue. He chuckles when Jean recoils and wrinkles his nose. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

Marco's day is pretty fantastic. Every hour or so, either he or Jean pulls the other man into the least occupied alcove for a quick kiss or three. Erwin is perpetually in a good mood, and Reiner and Bert leave for the day holding hands and talking about their stupidly cheesy romantic plans. But everyone else seems strangely subdued. Levi and Hanji are absent, hiding in the office doing paperwork for the close. Eren and Armin are barely speaking, and a strain Marco has never seen before is evident on Mikasa’s face. Connie seems agitated, and it can’t help that he seems to go through three bags of candy hearts over the course of the afternoon. There’s a brief altercation between Sasha and Annie, both of whom seem insistent on doing the Starbucks run, and play at least ten rounds of rock paper scissors before Annie finally wins and goes out into the cold. 

Armin is with him at intake, and Marco is alternately looking between him and where Jean is shelving LPs, when Annie returns with the drinks, and sets Armin’s down in front of him quite deliberately. Attached to the top is a small card, with an anatomically correct drawing of the brain on the front. It looks like it’s been cut out of one of the old medical texts they see from time to time, and while it’s a bit macabre, Armin's entire face brightens. 

“Annie,” he says quietly, then looks around carefully, and seeing only Marco, takes the card and opens it. He blushes, then looks up at her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Armin,” she says directly to the counter, her voice tense in a way Marco has never heard. She’s nervous, he realizes, high pink splotches on her cheeks clearly not from the winter wind alone.

Marco figures he probably shouldn’t be watching this, so he bends down, pretending to search the bin for any current publications that need to be shelved, but he glances up enough to see Armin reach into his pocket and hand Annie a card back - this one with a precise diagram of a heart on it, possibly from the same book. 

She opens her mouth to respond before Sasha bounds over and interrupts, searching for her and Connie’s orders. She’s exceptionally disappointed when Annie growls at her that they’ve officially finished with the holiday drinks, and skulks away muttering about how gingerbread lattes should be a year-round thing. 

Annie walks away after that and Armin looks chagrinned, but the feeling that passed between them lingers palpably. A short while later, Levi, Hanji and Erwin eventually leave as a group, Eren scuttling after them. Whatever conversation passes between them is outside, beyond hearing, but Eren is visibly crestfallen after it, and sulks back inside to stand silently next to Mikasa at the register. She doesn’t tell him to go back to work, just lets him be near her as long as he needs.

Marco can’t help but feel sorry for them all, concerned about what he can do, but most of all he’s relieved that at least his love life seems to finally be moving steadily and smoothly forward. It seems a bit selfish, but he’s pretty sure he’s earned it. 

Jean finds him shelving in computer science before he leaves.

“It’s gonna be weird not seeing you tonight.” he says, fiddling with the ties of his hat. 

“I’ll try not to cry too much,” Marco teases, giggling a little when Jean shoves him. “No really, have a nice talk with your mom. Say hi to her for me.”

Jean turns a violent shade of red at that, tugging his hat ridiculously low over his forehead.

“I just might. What are you gonna do?”

Marco shrugs.

“Probably call Ymir. She and Christa usually rent horror movies and have a ‘my bloody valentine’ party with each other and some of their music scene friends. I’ll see if I can crash that. If not, I’ll go to Club Epic.”

Jean actually glares at him so hard he can practically feel it burning into his skull until he leans forward and licks his nose. 

“I’m kidding. Club Epic would be a pretty sorry fallback after last night.”

“Um. Yeah,” Jean clears his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right? ”

“Yeah you will. At work and for Ymir’s party.” _And every day and night after if I can help it,_ he nearly says, but that’s...he’ll wait. Just a little longer. “Give the girls my love.”

Jean stretches to kiss him softly. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Marco.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Jean. And good night.”

Jean rolls his eyes and pushes him one more time for good measure. Marco watches until he’s gone out the door into the night, and then he turns back to the shelf. If there’s one thing he’s certain of after today, after watching the people around him wander through the malaise of heartsickness and romantic complications, it’s that he’s done with that. He’s going to nail this thing with Jean down hard and then they can start building on the foundations this week has laid.

Tomorrow night, after Ymir’s party, he’s going to ask Jean to be his boyfriend. And he will take nothing less than "absolutely yes" for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how many times I used the word "pizza" in this update. God I want pizza. 
> 
> And you were worried I was being all weird and ominous. 
> 
> ...>.>


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ymir may not even work at the store, but her birthday is definitely one for the books.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey howdy hey gentle friends, have I told you yet how much I love you? This fic is just shy of 10,000 hits and I can hardly believe it. I wish I could pass out pieces of cake with each update because you're all extraordinary and have made writing this an even more amazing experience. 
> 
> Did you listen to the mix yet? It's so good I want to punch my own face off. 
> 
> Props as always, though, to my crew, [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) (who will be at SDCC if any of you lucky people get to go), the most heichousquad anyone could ask for, [Fini](http://sargejamesbuckybarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), and [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks), who is the most epic cheerleader in the history of the Wall.

**> >From: Ymir  
aw hell naw whats up dawgs group text 2 remind u all to get ur rides sorted n shit. Christa & me will be 1 designated vehicar & we can take 3 ppl so just b here by 8:30.**

**> >From: Ymir  
Christa sez ppl can crash here 2 if they want but b warned u prolly gonna get dicks drawn on ur face by the dickface fairy**

**> >From: Reiner  
I thought i was the dixkface fairy**

**> >From: Ymir  
no ur just the dick fairy **

**> >From: Reiner  
nvm my msitake**

**> >From: Connie  
I can see why youd be confused tho reiner**

**> >From: Armin  
I’ll drive from our house. We have space for 2 in our car.**

**> >From: Eren  
HRY CONNIE AND DASHA HY DONT U RIDE W US U LIVE CLOSE**

**> >From: Reiner  
nice typing erne**

**> >From: Eren  
GO TO HELL RNEIRE :)**

**> >From: Sasha  
Dasha is my alternate form where I am an even faster runner. Its the next step in my pokevolution. Sure we can ride with you.**

**> >From: Connie  
yeah okay sure whatever sasha or dasha says**

**> >From: Armin  
All right, that’ll work. **

**> >From: Bert  
Annie, since it’s probably better if Reiner and I have the possibility of staying at Ymir’s house, you could come over there with us, and we’ll be the three in her car. **

**> >From: Annie  
Why can’t I just drive the car in general.**

**> >From: Reiner  
because ficw hundred dollars in damages thats why!!!**

**> >From: Connie  
wow i have no idea how much money that is on earth.**

**> >From: Annie  
She stopped short and it was icy. Clause 23, Reiner.**

**> >From: Reiner  
this is not a clause 23 situation! I will fucking stay SOB r if it means keeping you from behind the wheel of m car!**

**> >From: Eren  
SOB IS RIGHT**

**> >From: Jean  
holy fucking shit what is wrong with all of you stop blowing up my goddamn phone!!!!**

**> >From: Jean  
ymir how did you even get my number!**

**> >From: Ymir  
im a wizard harry**

**> >From: Jean  
goddammit Marco!**

**> >From: Marco  
I’m sorry! She tricked me!**

**> >From: Ymir  
tricked u w/e u gave it up like a virgin on prom night**

**> >From: Sasha  
wow this is getting really weird. Jean are you texting at work? Dont text at work jean.**

**> >From: Mikasa  
None of you should be texting at work with ERWIN here and I can see three of you doing it right now. **

**> >From: Ymir  
u go mikasa u wrangle dat crew**

**> >From: Mikasa  
Ymir stop texting everyone. We’ll get to the party just fine. All of you go back to work.**

**> >From: Ymir  
i work from home how u gonna stop me**

**> >From: Ymir  
Hello everyone, this is Christa! Ymir can't text right now because I taped oven mitts to her hands and shoved her in a closet. <3 Have a good day at work, it’ll be so nice to see everyone again tonight!**

**> >From: Connie  
Scariest person we know: annie, mikasa, or christa?**

**> >From: Reiner  
Christa**

**> >From: Armin  
Christa**

**> >From: Sasha  
Christa**

**> >From: Marco  
Christa.**

**> >From: Jean  
do any of you ever shut up!!!**

-

All texting aside, the tone in the store is strange. Marco wants to think it’s from the upcoming close; of course everyone is in a hurry to get as much done as possible while reassuring customers that everything will be fine. But is has a different feel than another busy day, like Black Friday or during a sale, when the energy pulls together in a team effort. That’s not to say everyone isn’t doing their best, and Erwin is certainly at the top of his game, handing out coupons to soften the blow of four days with no Survey Books. But this is definitely a kind of dark tension, a pulsing background radiation menacing and unusual.

He’s briefly relieved when Jean arrives for the closing shift, until his enthusiastic greeting is met with a limp lip quirk.

“Hey,” Jean says, almost seeming to duck away from him. “I gotta go put my coat away.”

Marco frowns, darting out from where he’s shelving to jog up next to Jean.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, um…” Jean tugs one of his hat strings, pointedly not making eye contact. “Just didn’t sleep real well.”

“How was talking to your mom?” Marco immediately regrets asking when Jean’s face sinks into a deep glower. 

“My mom was fine. Talking to not-dad Len was less fine, because he’s still upset that I fucked up mom’s birthday. Talking to Jac was the absolute fucking worst.”

“Oh, um…” Marco rubs his finger under his nose, trying to think of what to do, and ultimately settles with pathetically offering “Well I’m glad you’re here?”

Jean pauses and finally looks at him, expression softening just a little.

“...thanks, man.”

“You are...still coming to the party, right? I’m sorry about giving Ymir your number, she put me in an arm-lock and-”

“I don’t really care,” Jean pulls off his hat and stuff is in his pocket. “I’m still coming. If you want... I can pick you up when I get off work here, and we can go together. Cuz I don’t know where the place is.”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds fine.” Marco smiles, then glances around and, seeing no one nearby, leans forward to kiss Jean. 

He ends up with a faceful of tawny hair as Jean turns quickly to hang up his coat. 

“Whoa, sorry.”

“...that’s okay,” Marco pulls back, still trying to smile even as he blinks curiously. “Jean, are you sure-”

“Hey look!” Hanji swoops into the room, hair more disheveled than usual, “Two of my super great employees who are not on the floor and definitely should have been like two minutes ago! Out out out!”

She shoos them through the door, and with the day's rush, it’s the end of his shift before Marco gets to really speak to Jean again. Even then, it’s only a few words confirming the evening plans. It doesn’t pass Marco’s notice than Jean makes no move to touch or kiss him, and the thought gnaws at him the whole way home and into the early evening. 

-

Concern has settled into a low but constant throb behind his scar as he slides into Jean’s car.

“Hi,” he says, leaning across gear shift towards Jean. 

“Hey,” Jean pecks him quickly, and it would be sweet if not for the fact that Marco is fully aware what its like to really be kissed by Jean - and this isn’t even in the same state. “So where are we going?”

“Uh, go straight, turn left at the stop sign.” He leans against the door, watching Jean. He gives a few more directions before broaching the subject again, “So uh, we’re not at work now. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Jean shrugs, glancing into his rearview mirror. 

“Long night. Long day. I could just really use a drink.”

“I hear that,” Marco sighs, “Maybe like two or three. Stuff felt off today.” _You feel off today._

“Yeah, shit was tense. I think Levi and Erwin and Hanji were there the whole day.”

“I’m not surprised. Levi would probably rather chew off Erwin’s arm than close the store.”

Jean mutters something like “I think he’s chewing more than that."

"Huh?"

“Thought I saw them all leaving together again, they looked close.”

“They are close, I think. Levi and Hanji obviously, but I think they’ve known Erwin a long time.”

“...closer than that, Marco.” 

“Oh? OH!” His hand goes to his mouth. “Seriously?!”

“I’m not saying anything specific,” Jean licks his lips, “But I think a very short angry man has a very tall dapper boyfriend.”

“Holy shit,” Marco breathes, “That’s...wow, I wouldn’t have...wow.”

“I know, right.” 

Eren’s reaction to his conversation with Levi the previous day now makes a lot more sense. The pain in his side gets a little worse.

“I think I need to add another drink to my list.” Marco shakes his head and watches the lights stream past the window. 

-

Nam’s is, for all intents and purposes, your average tasty pan-Asian restaurant and bar. It’s past the main serving floor, however, that several doors lead off into mysterious rooms, and it’s the largest of these that the server leads them to.

“BABY!” Ymir shouts as soon as they walk in, waving from the head of a table already covered in menus and twice as many drinks as people. “And you too, Sir Scowlbutt. Welcome to my party!”

Marco can’t help but smile as he sheds his coat, taking Jean’s as well and adding them to the pile on a chair in the corner. Reiner and Bert are huddled together over the song selection book, and Christa and Annie are talking softly. The former looks up and waves at Marco, her face actually sparkling with carefully done make-up and her hair falling in soft curls on her shoulders. He melts a little at how happy she looks, because if there’s anyone in the world more excited about this party than Ymir, it’s Christa, whose devotion to her girlfriend is truly spectacular.

He glances over at Jean, who is standing awkwardly, significantly unsparkly, and can’t help sighing. He's still planning on asking him the boyfriend question, but right now the mood is far from right. He slides down the long booth to sit next to his cousin, bumping her shoulder with his. 

“Happy early birthday.”

“Why thank you, Marco, what a lovely thing for you to say.”

Jean snorts and Ymir tosses a menu at him.

“Knock yourself out with that, and feel free to do it literally.” She grabs her drink and takes a long pull on the straw. It looks suspiciously like a Shirley Temple, and Marco raises an eyebrow at her. “What?” He nods at the drink. “Well someone’s gotta look out for you assholes. It’s my fucking party, you think I’d spend it trashed? I don’t want to miss a minute of this.”

“Whatever you like, darling. You're dangerously close to becoming one of the most straight edge and responsible people I know.”

“Don’t make me uninvite you.” Her phone pings at her from the table and she picks it up. “Eren says they’re on the way, fashionably late as usual.”

“They’re bringing Sasha and Connie, right?” Marco scans one of the cocktail lists on the table. “That’s everybody then, right?”

“Almost,” Ymir taps her phone. “There’s a special surprise guest coming too.”

“Is it really a surprise if you already know?”

“Bitch it’ll be a surprise for you, then, I don’t fucking know, stop harshing my buzz!” Ymir grabs the list and pushes it into his face. “Come on, order something, I expect to see my little boy on his worst behavior tonight.”

Jean glances over at that, and Marco leans toward him as Ymir scoots over to look at the song book with Bert and Reiner. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re getting drunk tonight?” Jean seems wary. 

“I mean, I’m not adverse to it,” Marco feels strangely defensive. “I said I was in the mood for a few drinks. I’m not driving, and it’s not like I do it often.”

Jean studies him for a moment, then shrugs. Marco sighs again, and when the server comes back a few moments later, he orders a gin and tonic. He drinks it so fast he barely tastes it, but the burn in his stomach quickly replaces the anxious flutter in his chest, and that can only be a good thing. He orders a second, and by the time everyone else files in, doffing hats and coats and greeting the birthday girl, Marco is in a significantly better mood. He doesn’t even think about it when Armin goes to sit next to Annie and Eren deliberately chooses the other side of the table.

“Ooh,” Sasha slides in next to Jean, putting her chin on his shoulder and pointing the menu. “This is the place where the dumplings come in a boat!”

Connie tugs on Sasha’s ponytail, pulling her back far enough that he can see the menu too. 

“I thought places only did that with sushi. I could go for a dumpling boat, though.”

“You’re a dumpling boat,” Sasha pats him on the head dismissively, and he frowns. Marco can’t help giggling though, and Connie’s face quickly turns sly. 

“Oho, is drunk Marco coming out tonight?”

“I dunno,” he tries his best to seem aloof, but he’s pretty sure that an alcoholic flush is already starting to obscure some of his freckles. Two hard drinks on an pretty empty stomach may not have been a good idea, but it’s too late now. “Perhaps.”

“All right then!” Ymir claps her hands, climbing over everyone to get out of the booth and stand at the front of the room. “I just wanna go over a few ground rules.” Reiner groans loudly. Ymir flips him off. “So everyone knows that I’m all freaky-deaky 30 years ooooold on Monday, so this is me sending off my raucous second decade with a bang. That means everyone,” she points at each person in turn, “And I mean fucking EVERYONE sings. I don’t care what you sing, I don’t care how bad you sing it, no one gets out of this room alive without serenading me on this sacred event. Yeah, even you, Annie Leonhardt, I see you making that face.”

“What will you possibly do to me if I don’t?” Annie asks dryly. 

“We’ll have a fucking dance-off, Sharks and Jets style, I don’t fuckin’ know!”

Annie snorts.

“If that’s how you want to throw down, it’s your funeral.”

“Try me, ballerina.”

“It’s not like Annie’s ever seen ‘West Side Story,’” Eren mutters to no one in particular. Annie’s eyes narrow and Ymir makes a face at him. 

“What the fuck’s that got to do with anything? Don’t interrupt! Also, you should know that in her supreme benevolence, Queen Christa, love of my life and the best person you will ever meet, has pulled some strings with our pals Aidan and Hikaru at the bar, so drinks are on us.”

“HELL YEAH!” Reiner and Connie high five across the table. Christa beams, blowing a kiss to Ymir, who mimes catching it with a wink.

“What about food?” Sasha raises her hand. “Is food covered too?”

“Who do you think I am, Mr. Moneybags?” 

Sasha wilts. “Damn.”

“Yeah I paid for your dinner before, Sasha. Fool me once, fool me never a-fucking-gain.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Third of all, I want everyone to be super nice to our Mystery Date, who should be arriving...right about...now!”

The door swings open with a bang to reveal a short woman with long black hair tied in thick pigtails down her shoulders.

“Did somebody call for an anthropologist?”

“MINA!” Marco finds himself shouting, Jean whirling to look at him, startled.

“Happy birthday, bitch!” ‘Mina’ flings herself into Ymir’s arms, and they swing around for long enough for Marco to clamber out of the booth and join them. “Marco!” She hugs him with equal ferocity, kissing him on each cheek. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Ymir didn’t tell me you were coming!” He grins, arms around her waist. 

“That’s why it’s called a ‘surprise,’ silly!” She pokes him on the nose and he laughs, turning back to everyone else just in time to see Jean’s face switch from a dark scowl to something totally flat. He frowns back, but is quickly distracted by Mina slipping her arm around his waist as Ymir does the same to her. 

“Everyone, this is Mina Carolina. Mina went to high school with Marco and I, and is, to this day, the only person to successfully fuck both Bodt cousins!”

Reiner does an overdramatic spittake at that, but quickly recovers enough to raises his hands over his head and applaud loudly. 

“Yeah! Well done you!”

Mina laughs, blushing hard.

“I’m glad you’re still introducing me that way. This is why we're friends. Stay classy, Ymir.”

“Always,” Ymir bats her eyelashes. “Now lemme introduce you to my posse.”

As she goes around the room, Marco fumbles his way back to his seat, trying to pretend not to notice how thoroughly blank Jean looks. He stirs the mostly ice water remnants of his drink and pretends to be deeply engrossed in the menu until Ymir says, “All right, assholes, let’s eat and then let’s sing!”

Mina takes a seat on the end next to Connie, and a short time later two servers arrive to take orders and refill drinks. Marco should probably slow down a little, but he’s feeling a little less caring and a little more daring now, and switches to a Dark and Stormy. Rum will top off the gin nicely. This is a good idea. 

“Might want to take it easy,” Jean grumbles next to him, moodily drinking what is still his first beer. 

“So Mina,” Connie asks once the waitstaff has left, “Inquiring minds want to know, just how did you manage to get both weirdos in the sack?”

Mina brushes some hair out of her face and reaches to grab one of the karaoke microphones from on top of the speaker nearby. 

“Well Connie,” she says in her best news-reporter voice, “High school was a very interesting time for all of us. You know, magical summers that changed our lives and all that. Marco and I were lab partners in ninth grade, and it’s hard to know Marco without meeting Ymir. We were friends and then we got a little creative.”

“Which one did you bang first?” Reiner is looking a little pink in the face too, and Bert groans. “What, Bert, I just want to know the order to find out if I’ve indirectly fucked Marco!”

Bert hides his face in his hands, and Eren chokes on his drink. Mikasa slaps him hard on the back a few more times than necessary. 

“What?!”

“Well you know Bert dated Ymir in college, right?” Reiner says innocently, and Eren looks utterly scandalized. 

“Ymir!”

“It was during my straight phase,” Ymir grins, stretching her arms out along the top of the booth. “Didn’t last too long, did it Bertie?”

“No,” he moans from under his palms. 

“Oh man, do you remember that time I tried to blow you in that lounge on the first floor of Burton when neither of us even lived there?”

“I try not to,” Bert seems to be slowly sinking under the table. Annie smacks him in the shoulder until he stops. 

“Let’s just say that sucking dick is not my forte,” Ymir holds up her drink, “Marco got those genes.”

Jean goes perfectly still beside him, and Marco should know better, really he should, but he can’t help it. He laughs and elbows Jean in the side. 

“I told you, didn’t I? The other night? How much I suck? It’s a thing I’m good at, I dunno if you figured it out.”

A silence falls over the room at that, all eyes suddenly on them. Even Bert peers out from between his fingers at them. 

“Um,” Sasha says succinctly. “Well.”

“To answer your question, Reiner,” Mina draws the attention to back herself, “Marco and I fooled around a lot first. So yes, you have indirectly fucked Marco, if you want to think about it that way, which is really kind of creepy.”

“I never said I wasn’t creepy,” Reiner grins, slinging his arm around Bert’s shoulders. 

“No you definitely did not, Auntie Dick Fairy,” Connie shakes his head and a takes a long swallow of his drink. 

It’s Jean that speaks up next, his voice slow and measured in a very unnatural way. 

“What made you and Marco call it quits?” 

“I don’t know that we ever considered ourselves ‘together,’ did we?” Mina curls the end of one of her pigtails around her finger, looking to Marco who shakes his head. “Like I said, we were just friends who got extra friendly. I think we stopped after that incident in the shower.”

“Oh!” Marco nearly knocks over his drink as he points directly at her. “At your mom’s house?”

“Yeah, when you banged my knee into the faucet and-”

“And I got a bloody nose because you-”

“Yes!” Mina erupts into gales of laughter. “That was so bad!”

“I’m sure whatever happened was hilarious,” Connie rolls his eyes, “Even if the rest of us have no idea what it was.”

“It’s probably better that way,” Marco is still giggling, wiping tears out of his eyes. He puts a hand on Jean’s shoulder to steady himself and doesn’t even notice when Jean jerks away. “But yeah, that kinda killed the adventurous spirit.”

“After that, we were like ‘well, we could have sex...or we could eat this entire thing of oreos. Or go get milkshakes.’”

“A girl after my own heart,” Sasha nods. 

“Then I decided to eat pussy.”

Sasha blanches. 

“WHOA NELLY!”

Ymir cackles and reaches to high five Mina, then turns to nuzzle Christa’s hair. 

“Sorry babygirl.”

“Oh I don’t care!” Christa laughs, cuddling up to Ymir. “I’m grateful you got some practice before we got together.” She gives Mina a thumbs up. “My honey eats me out like it’s her job!”

“Christa…” Reiner looks at her in awe. 

“Speaking of food,” Armin says loudly, sounding tremendously grateful as their meals arrive. 

“My dumpling boat!” Connie declares. “What a mighty seafaring vessel!”

The group breaks off into little conversations after that, but it’s there’s no longer the ease that defined Mikasa’s party. That same sour current that marked the day is still underlining everything, but Marco no longer cares or wants to care. He’s thinking of how good it is to see Mina after all this time, and if she’ll be in town long enough that he can tell her about Jean. He remembers taking afternoon naps with her in summers long gone and wonders if Jean is the napping type and how nice it would be to keep doing what they did the other night: fuck and then fall asleep, then wake up and repeat. He wants to tell her how completely in love he is with the man who is currently picking at his dinner like it's as appealings as a month old corpse. 

“...you gonna eat that?” Sasha asks, and Jean pushes it over to her. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Marco blinks at him, nudging him with his elbow. 

“Not particularly,” he sneers. 

“Gotta eat so you have energy to sing.”

Jean just folds his arms tightly across his chest and looks away. Marco shrugs and goes back to his own food. He can hear Connie and Mina chatting quite happily; they seem very taken with each other. Sasha, however, is increasingly despondent, and when all her attempts at conversation with Jean are met with stony silence, she eventually falls quiet, pushing stray decorative lettuce around her own empty dumpling boat. 

“Is it singing time yet?” Eren asks eventually, the slight curve in his voice making it clear that he’s been pounding drinks almost as fast as Marco. “I feel very musical right now.”

“I think it is,” Ymir says, helping to pile dishes together and hand them back to the waiting servers. Once the table is cleared, she crawls out of the booth to stand at the front of the room once more. “Little thing you should know.” She removes a small piece of paper from her pocket. “I had my buddy James fiddle with the settings on the karaoke machine a little. Added a few songs that weren’t already loaded that I felt would be ideal for this evening. I’ve got the codes here. Some of you will recognize them, and one-” She grins ferally at Marco, “Is for my special boy.”

“It better not be the porn version of the ‘Speed Racer’ theme again.”

“Oh it’s something so much better,” she coos, “But first up is a song I want to dedicate to my special lady. Bert, hit the code. Ahem.” A series of numbers appears on the screen behind Ymir as Bert pushes the remote, and then a distinctly computerized version of the beginning drumbeats of Bon Jovi’s “Always” blare out of the speakers. “This Romeo is bleeding! But you can’t see his blood! It’s nothing but some feelings! That this old dog! Kicked up!”

Christa squeals in delight and claps her hands, and in a short while everyone but Jean is swaying to the chorus. When the song ends, they applaud, and Ymir bows, then holds out the microphone.

“Who’s next?”

“ME!” Reiner surges forward to grab it. “Bert, do the thing!”

“...does it have to be that song?”

“Yes it does. Do the thing, babe.”

Bert enters the song, and a short while later, Reiner is enthusiastically belting out “I CAME IN LIKE A WRECKING BALL” with all the talent of a flaming car wreck. 

Annie leans over to say something to Bert and he shakes his head. Reiner strikes a dramatic pose at the end of the song, then looks decidedly put out when the only person clapping is Eren.

“Oh like you people have taste. Wanna hear another one?”

“Sorry Sinatra,” Mina takes the microphone from him, the screen now reading “Material Girl.” “This one’s mine.”

Mikasa finds another book with the song codes, and the two are passed back and forth between people, the remote following as selections are made and songs queued. Christa does a fairly epic version of “Titanium,” and Bert’s shy rendition of Leonard Cohen’s “Everybody Knows” makes the dark song oddly charming. Marco flips through the pages not really finding anything in particular, content to know that if nothing else, he’ll sing whatever horrible song Ymir has picked out for him and then come back to cuddling Jean, even though Jean is making that very difficult. 

He’s sitting tightly, eyes fixed forward. Marco tries booping his nose, pushing the songbook into his lap, and even singing along with Mikasa’s “Moonligh Densetsu” (one of the songs provided by Ymir) at him. Jean remains unmoved, unwilling and uninterested.

“What’s wrong?” Marco coos in his ear, hand sliding up Jean’s thigh. Jean twitches but doesn’t respond. “Are you mad that I’m drunk?”

“I don’t care,” Jean won’t look at him, “Do whatever you want.”

“There’s a lot of stuff I want to do with you,” Marco is probably talking louder than necessary to be heard over the music, but who cares? No one should be paying attention to them right now anyway. “Like you said the other night.”

“Yeah, well, we’re kind of in public right now.”

“Mmmm, I know.” Marco feels warm all over, playful. He’d forgotten how awesome it felt to be this far gone. “But later, when you drive me home, we won’t be in public. You should come in. And stay. Stay all night. Jeresseresa and Tesseract won’t mind.” He pauses, realizing how badly he’s mangled the gerbils’ names, and starts giggling uncontrollably. 

“Who’re they?” Sasha inquires, noting Marco’s mirth. 

“Jean’s gerbils!” Marco gasps out, not even registering the horror that crosses Jean’s face. “They’re his special girls, he’s sooo cute about them! They’re like his babies, but shhh, don’t tell him I told you.”

Sasha nods in agreement; it occurs to Marco she might also be drunk, and frankly that’s pretty cool too. The singing is also starting to get pretty intense - everyone joins in on “Mr. Brightside,” but Eren seems particularly committed to it, practically leaning across the table at Armin every time the words “I just can’t look, it’s killing me” come up. 

But after that group effort, Connie seems more interested in having a close conversation with Mina than singing. Bert and Reiner have amassed an impressive collection of bottles and glasses in front of them, and Bert is engrossed in the song book like it contains the mysteries of the universe, pausing every now and then to ask Reiner if he has any cigarettes, being disappointed when the answer is no, and then asking again a short time later. 

The turning point comes when Annie takes the microphone and does a version of “I'm A Slave 4 U” that would have shocked Britney Spears herself. All talking ceases as she moves in a way she never has at work; her body lithe and every bit the dancer, her voice lower and more impossibly sultry than Marco could ever have imagined. What makes it extra fascinating is that the song is, without question, delivered directly to Armin. Her eyes are fixed on his the whole time, and when it’s over, he’s breathing as hard as she is. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Eren stands up as the last nodes fade, snatching the microphone from her violently. “I can fucking sing to Armin too, I’ve been singing to him longer than you’ve even known him!”

With that he launches into an extremely loud and well-sung but incredibly pained “You Belong With Me.” The tension in the room becomes almost oppressive, and even Mikasa looks decidedly on edge. 

“Dude, Eren,” Ymir’s voice is even but cautious, “You okay, bro?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay!” Eren flings the microphone onto the table and storms out of the room. Mikasa gets up and quickly follows him, and Marco watches as Armin puts his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Annie looks like she’s considering either committing violent murder or crying hysterically while committing violent murder, and both would be totally frightening options if Marco weren’t feeling kind of fuzzed out. He reaches for Jean’s hand, and doesn’t find it. 

“Okay,” Bert slurs from behind the song book, a straw held between his teeth in place of his desired cigarette, “Who’s next?”

“Me!” Sasha flails forward, “I have a totally emotionally appropriate song to sing to someone right now too!”

Connie and Mina are still deeply entrenched in whatever they’re discussing, so much so that the buzzcutted man doesn’t even look up as Sasha half-sobs “All I Ever Wanted” at him. He only seems to register she’s singing at the end, then applauds with all the vigor of someone who definitely wasn’t paying attention. Sasha’s face turns an angry red. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she says to no one in particular, dashing out of the room like Eren. 

_Oh,_ Marco suddenly registers through his blurry thoughts, _she’s in love with him._ No wonder they’ve been weird this week. And after all the times they’ve denied dating, too. It strikes him as so adorably awkward that he starts laughing. 

Jean turns to him, hissing, “What the fuck is your problem, shouldn’t someone go after her?”

“I’ll go,” Reiner gets to his feet heavily, “Auntie Reiner could use a jaunt to the ladies room too.”

Mikasa is dragging Eren back into the room as Reiner brushes past them. Eren has both hands firmly grasped around a pint and refuses to look up. His face is tear-stained and Mikasa’s is the picture of white fury, but they sit down silently. 

“Wow,” Ymir picks at her teeth with her pinky tail, “In spite of that last awkward moment, I think we’ll all really enjoy what’s coming next. Bert, 53093.”

Bert dutifully presses the numbers in, and Ymir reaches over to shove Marco’s shoulder.

“This one is for you and your boy.”

Marco grins and messily slides over Jean to go to the front. He retrieves the microphone from where Sasha dropped it in her haste, and looks up at the screen, unable to keep from groaning as “Gravy Train!!! - SIPPIN’ 40Z” flashes at him. 

“Fuck you, Ymir.”

“You know the words, don’t you baby?” She says sweetly. 

“You know I do.” Marco flashes a peace sign at her, and dives in. 

He can see it on his friends’ faces: if Annie’s break in character was shocking, Marco’s is just as much if not more so. Even Reiner -returning with a crying Sasha- looks abashed as Marco purrs “To find me a bitch, a young virgin switch,” and points at Jean. "I go to the high school, I go to the high schooI, find a young gun, and I drench him come.” Ymir mouths the words along with him, and he can’t helping grinning, swiping his hand along his side above his scar as he sings “Make him kiss my gash, then I fuck his tight ass.” 

He doesn’t get much further than that. Jean is up, out of his seat, grabbing his coat from the chair (spilling everyone elses’s onto the floor) and rushing out the door. 

“Wait, Jean!” He says into the microphone. 

“Those are not the words, Marco!” Ymir scolds.

“Hold on!” He says, setting the microphone down, “I’ll be right back.”

“Anyone else want to take over?” Ymir’s voice follows him as he weaves precariously between tables, grabbing Jean’s arm just as he exits the restaurant. 

“Hey!”

“Fucking let go of me!” Jean wrenches away from his hold and Marco stumbles out into the night after him.

“What’s going on?” His own voice sounds plaintive in his ears, the icy air a harsh change from the sweaty karaoke room. 

“I’m fucking leaving is what’s going on,” Jean spits, “What the hell does it look like?”

Marco narrows his eyes.

“You can’t leave now, you haven’t told anyone goodbye!”

“Who the fuck cares!”

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” Marco is quickly becoming less entertained by Jean than he ever thought possible. 

“What do you think?!”

“I don’t know, Jean,” he folds his arms across his chest, quite thoroughly unimpressed by the way Jean is acting. “Why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“Where do you want me to start? At you humiliating me with that stupid song?” Jean steps close to him. “Maybe with the part where I asked you not to mention the girls to anyone, and then you had to fucking broadcast it around the room.”

“Pfft, no one was listening!” He waves his hand airily. “Who even cares, they’re gerbils, Jean, not state secrets.”

Jean’s eyes get wide, his nostrils flare.

“...I can’t fucking believe you.”

“No I can’t believe you, Christ, why are you so upset about one little thing?”

“Do you not also remember basically telling everyone that we had sex?!”

“So?”

“So?!

“Well they would have found out anyway.” Marco pouts stubbornly. “I didn’t know I had been sworn to total silence forever.”

“We agreed to keep it quiet!”

“And now it’s not so quiet! Again, who cares! Someone was going to figure it out!” Marco reaches for him again. “Come on, let’s go back inside and-”

“All that was bad enough without having to sit by while you walked down memory lane with your old fuckbuddy-”

“Mina,” Marco’s voice goes as cold as the surrounding air. “Her name is Mina, and she’s my friend, not a fuckbuddy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a difference for you.”

“You hypocrite, you would think that, wouldn’t you? Especially since you’re terrible at both.” It’s out before he can stop it. He may as well have just punched Jean. He may as well have punched himself. “Jean-”

“Well you would fucking know, Marco!” Jean is yelling now. “People fall over themselves to know you and fuck around with you, you absolutely know how to be the best! You’ve never been anything but everyone’s favorite! It’s a goddamn pain for the rest of us humans to try to live up to your impossible fucking standard!”

“Jean,” Marco swallows hard, trying to arrange thoughts, meanings, intentions, everything _anything_ into something other than the drunken panicky jumble it’s rapidly becoming. “I wish you’d stop with that because I’m not perfect, obviously what I just said means I’m far from it and I’m sorry-”

“No you’re right! You’re always right! I am terrible at it! I was terrible at being friends with Hitch and I was terrible at being her fuckbuddy! I’m a terrible person with no friends, I’m a terrible son who ruins his mother’s birthday, I’m a terrible disappointment to my stepdad and it turned out I was terrible at law school and everything I thought would make me better than I am!”

“Please,” Marco rubs his face with his hands, then holds them out to Jean in supplication. “Jean, let’s go back inside. I know you’re upset, but you’re not a terrible son or anything and you can always go back to law school-”

“No I fucking can’t!” Jean yells at him. “I failed the fucking bar exam!”

Marco blinks.

“The bar? But you said-”

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth because it’s a goddamn embarrassment! I finished law school and I was all ready to go, I was telling everyone at Trost how I was finally getting out, I was gonna get a real job at a firm and then I got my bar results back and I fucking failed!”

“Lots of people fail the bar on the first try! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“It means everything! I studied my ass off, gave myself an ulcer and then the night before I just lost it! I couldn’t do it! Everything I wanted and I could barely even finish the fucking test! It means I’m doomed to just fuck up everything I want, and it especially means something because my sister has never failed a test in her life, my sister-” the words are becoming sharper and harder, “My sister is perfect just like you and last night she told me she's already studying for her MCATs and her practice tests have all been perfect too! She’s 19, Marco! 19! You were getting your goddamn nipples pierced at 19 and my sister is already on her way to being even more fantastic than she always has been! And what am I? I’m 26 years old and I work in a fucking bookstore!”

“Not this again,” Marco feels the old anger returning, “What’s so fucking bad about that? I’m 27! I work in a bookstore! I like working in a bookstore! I might not want to do it forever, but it makes me happy! What’s wrong with being happy?”

“I don’t want to be happy!” Jean wails. “I want to fucking MATTER!”

“You matter to me!” Marco shouts back. “I am in love with you, you stupid fucking asshole!”

“You are not!” Jean is in his face so quickly Marco doesn’t even see him move. “I tried to tell Jac about you and she reminded me that no one in their right mind would actually want to date me! You’ve been trying to get in my pants since I got here and I let you because I was stupid enough to think that you actually cared about me!”

“How DARE you!” Marco shoves him. Actually shoves him. Jean falls back, skidding on some ice and just barely managing to right himself with both arms out to the sides. “How FUCKING DARE YOU!” Marco advances on him. “What the hell do you know about my feelings?! I have been nothing but understanding and thoughtful towards you, even when you were the lousiest hire we’ve ever had! Do you honestly think if I just wanted to fuck you I would have put up with your fucking bullshit for as long as I have? No one’s ass is worth that much to me! I did it because I love you and I want you physically and emotionally and all the stupid cutesy ways too!” 

They’re nose to nose now, hot breath mingling between them. There won’t be any kisses this time. Maybe not ever again. 

“I’m too terrible to love,” Jean says, and his eyes are full of angry tears. “And I never get anything I want.”

“Did you want me? Because you can have me. You can still have me. Please. Say you will.” Marco voice trembles and he’s shivering. It’s February and he’s outside without a coat and it’s cold. Or maybe it’s rage. Maybe it’s sorrow. Maybe it’s all of the above. 

“I did.” Jean sniffles hard. “I do. But you’re not the person I thought you were.”

“What does that mean?!”

“I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what? That every time you fuck something up you run away from it, then you look back and get upset that nothing ever turns out the way you want? No, I don’t understand that!” Jean is starting to cry, but Marco can’t stop. “I don’t understand...I don’t understand not wanting to be anything other than a stupid self-fulfilling prophecy!” And now he’s crying too, the wind burning the trails of water into his cheeks. “Because that’s what you are! You say ‘I did this thing and it didn’t work out so I’m screwed forever’ and you shove away anyone who might want to help you change or get better! Because god forbid you not be rich or important or better than your sister, god forbid you even try to be happy!” Marco pauses, licking his lips and tasting salt. “If you were just a fuckbuddy…I wouldn’t be so mad at you right now. And even if you were just my friend, this wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” Jean’s voice is a ruined shadow of itself. “So lets not be any of those things and everyone will be fine.”

“Jean-” his voice cracks, but Jean is pushing away from him. He’s walking. He’s leaving, everything they were broken on the sidewalk around them. “Jean!”

Jean stops and looks over his shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking say ‘good night,’ Marco. Not this time.”

And the thing is? Marco doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to say anything, or do anything, or be anything. He lets Jean walk away and thinks that it would be a true act of cosmic mercy if the everything ended right now. Fire, earthquake, endless tidal waves of blood, anything. But the world just keeps on going like it always has, and he finds himself turning to go back inside.

Connie goes past him. He doesn’t stop to turn around. Eren runs by with a bruise blooming along his jaw, Mikasa inches behind him calling his name. When he makes it back inside he sees Armin helping Annie into her coat. Her lip is bleeding. His hair is no longer neatly pulled back but hanging in his face, strands stuck to his cheeks with barely-visible wetness. Their movements are slow and gentle with sore affection, and he sees Armin nod at him as they walk out hand in hand. 

Marco pushes open the door to the karaoke room. 

Mina is holding a sobbing Sasha, rocking her gently, murmuring soft things into her hair. Reiner is massaging his temples with his fingers so hard he might actually poke through to his brain, and Bert is smoking (god knows where he located the cigarette and a lighter) and singing "99 Problems," undoubtedly another one of Ymir's songs. Christa is asleep with her head on Ymir’s lap, and Marco finds his way back to his seat next to her, sitting down heavily. 

“I don’t know about you,” says Ymir, surveying the carnage around her, “But I think that this might have just been my best birthday ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then! I'll just be...going over here now...
> 
>  


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Ymir's party, everyone is looking for a way to put the pieces back together, with varying degrees of success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Wow. Um...so the reaction to last week's chapter was truly astounding. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to comments, but... gracious, you guys. I'm stunned and touched and so grateful for all of you. And there's more art? And it's amazing? I just will never get over this. Thank you all so much. 
> 
> The art, by [Hachidraws](http://hachidraws.tumblr.com) is [here](http://hachidraws.tumblr.com/post/92641449062/im-too-terrible-to-love-lies-in-a-ditch), go look at Jean's perfect stupid hat and his beautiful awful face. I love it so much. 
> 
> There's no love like crew, so here's mine: [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), a true Woman of Marvel; heichousquad [Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com/) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), both of whom keep going to exciting places while I go to work; and the Queen Beyond the Wall who is the one true ruler of British Horror, [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks) (aka [ Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com).

Marco hates everyone and everything that has ever existed.

He hates this IHOP for catering to humans who haven’t had their whole world destroyed. 

He hates his glass of water for reminding him how empty his stomach is, how raw his throat feels. 

He hates Sasha for sniffling every ten seconds. Goddammit, she’s using all the fucking napkins at the table, why can’t she stop crying for like five fucking minutes. 

He hates Bert for still being drunk and smelling like sweat and old cigarettes; it’s making him even more nauseous than he already is. He vaguely remembers the tall man being so insistent that he needed cigarettes that he tried to get out of Ymir’s moving car, and has a dim recollection of himself throwing up in the parking lot of a gas station when they’d finally stopped to buy Bert’s precious drunken nicotine fix. What a fucking asshole.

He hates Reiner for talking to Mina about her work and being so unrelentingly friendly. He hates Mina for even being here, and for the job she’s discussing with Reiner: she really is an anthropologist (or at least a few months from her PhD and as good as hired by her university) just like she always wanted to be when they were in high school. Good job everyone, way to be successful and have life goals and live up to them. Thanks for being such wonderful, decent people, go suck a hundred dicks.

He hates Eren for texting him every few minutes. He’s clearly upset, but Marco can only tell him so many fucking times that no, he hasn’t heard from Armin, yes, he’ll let him know if he does. He hates Armin for this, for not manning the hell up and telling Eren he was in love with him ten years ago, and then deciding to bail on his best friend for Annie. He hates Annie for falling in love with Armin. He hates Mikasa for letting all of this happen in her own house. 

He hates Connie because…okay he can’t think of a good reason to hate Connie, but he’ll come up with one.

He hates Christa for looking like a million dollars in spite of how drunk she was the previous night. She’s the perfect one, she’s the most perfect person in the history of the world, who knows how she even manages to put with the insidious bitch that is her girlfriend.

He probably hates Ymir most of all, sitting across the booth from him, looking as hungover as everyone else even though he’s sure she didn’t have anything to drink last night. If she’s trying to commiserate, she’s fucking lousy at it, and the dark circles under her eyes aren’t going to elicit any sympathy from him. This is all her fault anyway: for having a party, for telling Marco he should get drunk, for inviting Jean, making him sing that stupid song, hell even being born at all. It’s just a dozen more things on the list of stupid shit she’s done to him for his whole life starting with that time she made him eat leaves when he was two, all the way up until the fall where she could have gotten arrested while he was in surgery. And then she just watched her friend group implode last night and actually enjoyed it. What an absolutely shitty excuse for a human being she is. 

“Wow,” the waitress looks decidedly less than excited to be handling their table, “What happened to you guys, a zombie outbreak?”

“More like something out of ‘Apocalypse Now,’” Ymir mumbles, and Marco sneers at her. She thinks she’s so fucking clever, no one even likes that movie, it’s just “Heart of Darkness” with explosions and no one reads Joseph Conrad unless they’re forced to. 

“The ‘Ymirpocalypse,’” Reiner suggests, and Marco could just kick him. 

“I like that,” she says, then turns to the waitress. “Can we get like two things of coffee? I don’t think we’re ready to order yet.”

The waitress nods and leaves, and Bert shifts around, stale smoke stench wafting toward Marco and making him gag. 

“Where’s the quiche page?” he frowns at the menu darkly. 

“I keep telling you, babe,” Reiner says gently, “We’re at IHOP. IHOP is not known for their quiches.”

“Why did we have to come to IHOP?”

“Because IHOP is close and affordable and you guys cost me a shitton of money last night,” Ymir rolls her eyes, “Since everyone was either too drunk or too melodramatic to pay for their dinner. ...Except Mina, thank you Mina.”

Mina nods, and Sasha stifles a sob. 

“Sorry, Ymir, I’ll pay you back, I just…” She inhales a shuddering breath. “I just…”

“It’s fine,” Ymir scowls and waves her hand at the girl. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just being a bitch.”

“How’s that any different from usual?” Marco mutters, and she looks at him sharply. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Siggy likes quiche,” Bert interjects, and Marco rolls his eyes. “Reiner can we stop on the way home and get quiche for Siggy?”

“No, Bert, we are definitely not going to do that. You can get an omelette and take part of it home to her, okay? I promise she won’t know the difference.”

“Siggy has a very refined palate!”

“Siggy is-” Reiner starts, sees Bert’s murderous glare over his menu, and then sighs. “A very special girl. How about tomorrow we make quiche at home. We don’t have to work, you can cook all day.”

Bert brightens immediately; it probably also helps that the coffee arrives at that moment, and he takes one pot entirely for himself. 

“Greedy bastard,” Ymir grumbles, using the other one to pour a cup for Christa and then herself. 

“I’m so glad none of you have to go in today,” Christa wraps both hands around her mug and inhales. “I’d feel so terrible if you did.”

“You’d feel terrible?” Marco asks incredulously, trying to decide if he should add creamer or if that will make him feel worse. “You don’t even work there.”

“Marco,” Ymir says, her tone cautioning. “Drink some coffee.”

He makes a point of not drinking his coffee, just leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Ymir opens her mouth but is cut off by Roy from “IT Crowd” saying “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” Sasha gasps and digs in her bag for her phone. She yanks it out, eyes wide and hopeful, and then her face falls again. 

“Just Eren,” she says miserably, typing out a response. “He’s still trying to get in touch with Armin.”

“I have a pretty good idea where Armin is,” Reiner stirs his coffee, “And I admit I’m not entirely looking forward to the conversation I’ll be having with Annie when we get home.”

“Annie didn’t do anything wrong,” Bert finally folds the menu, then reaches into his coat pocket for his cigarettes, pulling one out and tapping it on the table before tucking it behind his ear. “Eren punched her first.”

“She looked really awesome when she kicked him in the face,” Mina tries.

“Didn’t she?” Christa sighs. “She has the most amazing legs.”

“Babygirl!” Ymir says in mock horror. “How could you!”

“Oh shut up,” Marco is tearing apart his napkin now, little pieces fluttering to the table like so much snow. “Not everything always has to be about you, you know.”

“I’m going to ask this nicely once,” Ymir’s voice is low. “What is going on with you, Marco?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I’m not saying she’s wrong, babe, but she didn’t need to hit him back. She’s lucky Mikasa didn’t rain fire on her. I just want to ask her how the situation got this bad in the first place.”

“Yeah, go ‘Auntie Reiner’ her,” Ymir turns to Reiner, “I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Because Reiner’s relationship advice is always spot on.”

“Marco,” Bert warns tentatively. 

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“....dammit, Eren!” Sasha swipes at her eyes angrily. Marco should really be relieved that Eren has stopped texting him, but the thought of texts on the whole just makes him more angry. “Just text Armin, not everyone BUT Armin!”

“Maybe Armin isn’t ready to talk right now,” Mina says gently, “And that’s okay.”

“I hate not talking,” Sasha snuffles.

“Obviously.”

“Marco,” it’s Christa this time, voice wary and concerned. 

“You know, though,” Mina hedges a little, trying to distract them back to herself and Sasha, “Last night… when Connie and I were talking? Your name was practically every other word he said.”

Sasha turns to her, red-rimmed eyes widening. 

“R-really?”

“Yeah,” Mina smiles softly. “He’s crazy about you. I think you’re just having a misunderstanding, and I’m sure it’s going to work out fine.”

“You think so? I-” Sasha nearly jumps a mile when her phone sounds again, this time not her text sound but Connie singing "Life on Mars" badly. “OH MY GOD! IT’S HIM!” She stares at the small electronic like it might eat her hand. “Should I answer it?!”

The singing continues for a few seconds, but to Marco it seems an ungodly long period of time and he snaps.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sasha, answer the fucking phone, you’ve only been wailing about him since we got up!”

Everyone at the table -and the next few tables- looks at Marco and he quickly picks up his menu again, hiding behind it. Sasha stares at him, then grabs the phone just as the ringing stops. 

“Connie?! …yeah, obviously I’m not at home. Did you only just notice?” She plugs one ear with a finger to hear better over the resumed din of the restaurant. “At IHOP, why? ……….yeah, the one on University.”

She gets up from the table then, walking towards the restrooms. Bert scoots into her place, but Marco stays in the corner of the booth, feeling too hot and too sick and too furious to do anything but stew. 

“Marco,” Ymir has her bossy voice on, and oh, he could just punch her in the kidneys, “Do you have something you want to share with the rest of us?”

“He shared a lot last night,” Reiner tries to smile, an expression that dies halfway when Marco slams down the menu and glares at him.

“Yeah and it’s fucking funny to you, isn’t it? It’s just one big joke! My entire life is in shambles right now, Eren’s a fucking trainwreck, no one knows where the shit Armin is, Sasha can’t even eat food without crying and you and Ymir have the goddamn audacity to act like it’s all just a passing phase!”

“It is a phase,” Mina reaches for his hand. “Some bad things happened last night, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Oh you don’t even fucking know, Mina, stop trying to be so understanding! This isn’t even your real life, you just came to a party and got to watch everyone put on a show for you!” Mina draws her hand back, stunned and stung. 

“Marco fucking Bodt,” Ymir’s tone is as dark as a bottomless pit, “You apologize right now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Ymir!” He throws a sugar packet at her. It bounces off her shoulder and into Christa’s lap. “You’re not my mom, she’s dead!”

“Okay, wow,” Reiner starts.

“We’re not playing the ‘absent mother’ game here, Marco, you are being a shit and I want you to either shape up or-”

“Or what? What, Ymir? What could you possibly do to me that’s worse than what’s already happened? You wanna laugh more about how your best party ever was the worst night of my life? Go on, you’ve been doing a great job!”

“Jesus Christ, Marco, you act like I burned down the world myself!”

“You might as well have! All of this is your fault!”

“My fault?! How is it my fault that your whole store can’t keep its emotions together? How is it my fault that you didn’t think to tell me you were all heading for an explosion?”

“You…” Marco starts, and his head is pounding, his stomach churning. “You invited him!”

Ymir’s nostrils flare and she takes a long, slow breath.

“Are you honestly being a pissy little bitch to everyone at this table just because of what happened with Jean?”

_Jean._

Marco hadn’t wanted to hear his name, or even think it. He’d purposely left it off his list of detestable things purely for the relief of not even having to remember what was and what is, so he wouldn’t have to feel the cold wind of last night squeezing his already crumpled heart. 

“Don’t even say his name,” he hisses, and he’s not sure if he’s about to sob or throw the hell up. “You don’t even care. You’ve been insufferable ever since I even mentioned I liked him, you nearly ruined my chances once before, and last night you completely destroyed them! Sometimes I wish you’d just get your big fucking mouth and stupid attitude out of my goddamn life!”

Time stops. 

Marco remembers faintly an old episode of the Simpsons, of Bart saying “you can almost pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half,” and when he was younger he couldn’t imagine what that face would look like on a real person rather than a cartoon. 

He knows now. 

He knows and he’s sorry, he’s so sorry, he might even be more sorry than he was last night after what he said to Jean, but just like then, it’s too late now.

Ymir goes pale, her freckles standing out starkly on her cheeks. And then there’s tears, so many tears, someone’s broken the Hoover Dam of Ymir’s emotions, and it’s him. It’s all him. Marco can count the number of times he’s seen Ymir cry on one hand, and it’s never taken something as simple as her cousin in a pancake house to pull her down before.

But suddenly everything is different. 

Ymir pushes out of the booth, past Chrisa, past Reiner, stopping to drag her arm across her face and look at him hatefully.

“Go to hell, Marco.”

It takes him a moment to register what he’s done -made her so upset she can’t even swear at him- but she’s already stalking through the restaurant and out the door. Marco’s mouth falls open in shock, and he’s wrenched violently out of his black rage and into pure, unrelenting shame. He gapes at the few people remaining at the table. Reiner looks like he might cry too. Mina is staring at her hands. Christa regards him with the coldest expression he’s ever seen on a living person.

“I’ll have the quiche, please,” Bert says to the waitress as she strides up at just that moment.

“Bert,” Reiner moans, then digs in his pockets and hands the waitress a ten dollar bill. “I think we need a few more minutes.”

She blinks at him, but takes it, and walks away again. 

Christa folds her hands primly on the table. 

“I’d like you to know, Marco,” she starts quietly, “That Ymir was up all night.”

Marco manages to close his mouth and bites his lip. 

“I didn’t-”

“No, you didn’t know. You didn’t know because you were so drunk Reiner had to carry you up the stairs to our apartment.” Marco looks sheepishly at Reiner, who shrugs and flicks his eyes away. “At that point you didn’t remember the three times she had to pull over so you didn’t get sick in the car. You could barely even remember your name.”

“I-” Marco tries again, “I didn’t-”

“I’m talking, Marco.” Christa’s voice is a frozen dagger, and his mouth snaps shut. “I want you to know that she stayed in the bathroom with you until tree in the morning, rubbing your back and giving you water, until you fell asleep on the floor and she would have stayed there with you if I hadn’t physically dragged her out of the room.”

“Christa-”

“I want you to know, Marco,” It’s a cobra’s hiss, a warning, a weapon, a poisonous, terrible truth, “That she woke up Reiner just to have him explain the situation with your job to her, and when she realized that everyone wasn’t just being melodramatic, that actual terrible things had happened between the people she cares about, she cried for hours.”

“She smoked half my cigarettes, too,” Bert offers, then shrinks back in his seat when Christa gives him the evil eye. 

“She smoked half Bert’s cigarettes too,” Christa turns back to Marco, “Out on the balcony. In February. Until the sun rose. I want you to know she texted everyone to see if they were okay, Marco. I want you to know she tried to call Jean simply because she knows how much he means to you. And after all of that, she got everyone up and out the door because she was worried we didn’t have enough food in the house to feed a group of hungover people.” 

Marco can’t even swallow anymore. Christa’s words are cutting him to pieces. His side screams at him so loudly he wonders if the scar has opened wide. If he looked, would there be blood leaking through his shirt? 

“No one cares more about your happiness than Ymir. No one loves you more than Ymir. You may want the best for Jean, but Ymir wants the best for you, always.”

“...I know,” he manages weakly, hanging his head; it won’t hang low enough for how badly he feels, how much he’s been shamed. “I know, but-”

“There are no ‘buts,’ Marco. You’ve said so many horrible things to the people you purport to love in the past day that it’s no wonder that both Ymir and Jean want nothing to do with you right now. I know I don’t.” She grabs her purse. “Excuse me, Bert, Reiner, Mina. My baby needs me.”

They part for her like an astonished Red Sea, and she’s gone. The silence in her wake is both uneasy and awed.

“...I think that was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen,” Reiner finally murmurs. “Like an actual goddess just reached out of heaven and backhanded the lot of us.”

“Really it was just Marco,” Bert points out helpfully, “And he deserved it.”

Marco raises his head but he can’t even muster the willpower to shoot Bert a dirty look because he’s right. He’s right because Christa was right because Marco did everything she said and more. And worse. He may not have caused the trouble between Eren and Annie and Armin, he had nothing to do with whatever happened with Connie and Sasha, but he did say the worst things possible to the two people he most adores. Jean might be lost forever, and Ymir…

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking fiercely. Once more, he’s not sure if he’s going to be sick or cry and cry and never stop crying. He tries to hold onto his now-cold mug of coffee but the shudders going through his hands just make him slosh it over the rim and onto the table. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m so sorry.”

Sasha comes back at that moment, sitting down heavily.

“The connection cut out and I think Connie’s phone died. I don’t even know.” She sighs wetly, then blinks. “Where’s Ymir and Christa? What did I miss?”

“Waitress!” Bert calls as she passes by, “I’ll have the quiche, please!”

Reiner puts his head directly on the table and groans.

“I fucking hate IHOP.” 

Marco is certain, though, that no matter how much Reiner hates IHOP, it comes nowhere near to how much Marco hates himself.

-

Breakfast is, unsurprisingly, a largely a dismal affair. Marco manages to choke down a piece of bacon, but his throat is so tight, his stomach such a tangle of knots, that he quickly gives up on even attempting the other two pieces or his eggs and toast. Reiner’s chicken and waffles go largely unappreciated, Bert is less than thrilled by the unquicheiness of his omelette, Mina eats her pancakes in total silence and even Sasha doesn’t seem very enamored of her stuffed French toast. That she requires a takeaway box for it is even more upsetting, and as they wedge themselves into Mina’s car (Ymir and Christa long since having left), Marco wonders if he’s going to have to make them pull over like he apparently did so many times last night. 

He thinks of Jean making himself sick at his mother’s house, all the texts he sent Marco, and quickly squeezes his eyes shut. No. Not now. Not later either. _Don’t think of Jean._

“I guess we’re heading back to Ymir’s, right?” Mina’s normally bright tone is dim. “Unless I’m taking people home?”

“Our car is still there,” Reiner nods. 

“...I don’t really want to go home,” Sasha says quietly. She’s sitting between them again, but this time there’s no warmth or playful fondness. Everything is cold, muted, and dead. 

Marco can feel Mina’s eyes on him from the rear view mirror, and he stares at his feet for a long time before responding. 

“I need to talk to Ymir.”

“I’m almost certain she won’t want to talk to you,” Bert rolls down the window and flicks on his lighter. Mina quickly rolls the window back up and glares at him. 

“Sorry,” Reiner leans forward between the seats, taking the lighter out of Bert’s hand and putting it in his own pocket. “He’s not usually like this, I promise, he'll sober up one of these days. Honey, don’t smoke in other people’s cars.”

Bert makes a sound of tired annoyance, but he doesn’t argue. That’s the last anyone says until they pull up in front of Ymir and Christa’s building. Reiner helps his boyfriend out of the car, exchanges pleasant goodbyes with Mina, kisses Sasha on the forehead, and gives Marco a long, meaningful look. Bert just retrieves his lighter from Reiner’s pocket, fires up a cigarette, and waves casually before loping behind Reiner to their car. 

The remaining three make their way to the door where Mina scans the buzzers for names. 

“What’s their apartment number again?”

“I’ve got a key,” Marco says, digging around in his pockets, then pausing. “Mina?”

“Yeah?”

“What I said at the restaurant…I’m sorry. I really am.”

She gives him a look of wounded patience.

“I know you are.”

“Can, um,” he clears his throat, “Can you forgive me?”

“Well...You weren’t completely wrong,” she cocks her head to the side, hands reaching up to tug on one of her pigtails. “I don’t know what’s going on. I just showed up for a party. I’m not particularly thrilled with the way you said it, but in the overall scheme of things? It was an unfortunate moment brought to you by hangovers and bad decisions. And I’ve had my share of those. So yeah, Marco, I forgive you.”

He feels the weight on his shoulders lighten ever so slightly at that, but then she adds: “I’m not the one who really needs an apology, though.”

“I know,” he almost-whispers. “I know.”

“I don’t know, though,” Sasha mumbles, blowing on her hands, “Because I wasn’t at the table, but I’m cold and I’d like to go inside, please.”

“Right,” he sighs, unlocking the outside door. 

When they reach the second door, he hands the keys to Mina so she can peer in first.

“We’re back,” she calls into the apartment.

Christa’s head appears over the top of the couch, her expression warm until she sees Marco. She stands up, coming to join them. 

“Sasha, Mina, I put out some towels for you if you want to shower.”

“Thanks,” Mina smiles. “I definitely need one.”

“I’ll do it in a bit,” Sasha yawns, pulling out her phone again. “I want to just...see if Connie calls back before my phone dies too.” She wanders past Christa to one of the armchairs, curling up into it, phone close to her chest. 

“Marco?” Christa asks, voice deadly sweet. “What would you like? A sharp stick to go fuck yourself with?”

He winces. He deserves it, but it’s still brutal, especially coming from Christa. 

“Where’s Ymir?”

“She’s on the balcony. She asked to be alone. I hope you understand that it’s taking every shred of my willpower to give her that.”

“I do.” He swallows hard. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“You do that,” she says. Marco can feel her eyes burning into his back as he crosses the living room and slides open the glass and screen doors, steps outside, then shuts them behind him. 

Ymir is leaning against the far wall, staring out across the white waste of the landscape to the next building and beyond it to the closed-for-the-season pool. She’s smoking what must be one of Bert’s stolen cigarettes. She looks utterly miserable and doesn’t even pretend to acknowledge him as goes to stand beside her. 

It’s quiet. She’s quiet. For a long time it’s just her and the smoke she breathes out in fine plumes. Marco knows he should start, but he isn’t sure how. It’s like feeling around the edge of a cliff to see if the bridge is just broken or completely charred to uselessness. 

“You know when you were born, I hated you.”

He looks up when she breaks the silence. She leans forward, putting her elbows on the railing. 

“You were so needy and obnoxious and gross, and everyone wanted to pay attention to you. I couldn’t figure it out. I was the interesting one who could actually talk.” She raises the cigarette to her lips again, inhales, then speaks as she breathes out a gray cloud. “My mom would leave, and I’d get stuck at your house, and when you started to crawl, I couldn’t fucking get away from you. Your mom and dad said you were nuts about me and I just thought ‘what the fuck’s the point of that.’ You were so boring and drooly.” She closes her eyes and the corner of her mouth raises. “So I’d push you away, but you’d still come after me. And eventually you started to push back and I realized that it didn’t matter if my mom wasn’t around, it didn’t matter if I’d been such a shitty daughter I pushed her away, because every time I pushed you, you were still here.” A tear escapes from underneath her lashes, her lips trembling as they fight to keep the weak half-smile. “I always wondered, though, if one day I’d push you too hard and I’d lose you. But I kept doing it anyway.”

“Ymir,” he says, his voice sounding thick in his own ears, “I’m still here.”

“I know you are. But you’re fucking mad at me and you know what, I…” she takes a shuddering, painful-sounding breath, “I didn’t take you seriously when you said Jean wasn’t like Reiner. I thought I could pull the same shit I always do and we’d all laugh it off later. I didn’t try to feel out that something was wrong last night, I just went ahead and-”

“Ymir, stop.”

“Pushed all of you until-”

“Ymir!”

Marco grabs her then, awkward and sideways, her shoulder knocking him in the chin before he can wrangle her into a better position, and then he just presses his face into her neck. It’s not until he actually attempts to apologize that he realizes he’s crying - when the words come out wet and choked and barely comprehensible. He tries again will the same degree of success, so he settles for holding onto her as tight as he can until he’s no longer sure which one of them is sobbing or if it’s both of them.

When the spasms of sadness finally subside, they pull apart. Ymir is flushed, nose running and bangs smashed against her forehead. She snuffles loudly. 

“Well that was fucking lame,” she chokes out. “I feel like I’ve been living a Leslie Gore song.”

“You look like a Leslie Gore song,” he tries, and she shoves him.

“The fuck’s that even mean? That I look like a teenage break-up? Yeah, well, I’m not gonna take all the credit for that.”

“No,” Marco says softly, “And you shouldn’t. I did most of it.” 

“Yeah, you really pulled out all the stops for my birthday, huh?”

“I wanted to make it one for the books, I guess.” he laughs weakly.

“Well it’ll always have a special place in my repressed memories, that’s for sure.” Noticing the cigarette has long since gone out, she flicks the butt over the railing with a sigh. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

He reaches for her hand, taking it in both of his and kissing the scar on her knuckles leftover from a sixth grade bike accident. It occurs to him that what he’d expected out of this confrontation was yelling, maybe some physical violence, but the way they’ve handled it, in spite of everything is...almost mature. Neither of them has actually managed to coherently say “I’m sorry” to the other, but after the life they’ve been through together, Marco wonders if maybe they don’t need to. Maybe they’re actually adults now, and this is how it’s going to be. It’s the first time in a day he’s felt reasonably good about something. 

“Come on,” he says, still cradling her hand, “Lets be honest, what would I ever do without you?” Her eyes start to fill again and he adds, “Who would I blame my life on?”

“Fuck you, Marco,” she lets out a watery laugh, yanking her hand from him so she can smack him more efficiently. “I should have just taken this chance to get rid of you, now I really am stuck with you forever.”

“Joke’s on you,” he ducks away from her assault, “I gave you the perfect out and you just Colonel Kurtz’d it in the corner until I came in-”

“Oh no you don’t you little bitch, if either of us is Martin Sheen, it’s gonna be me!”

“Wow, okay, if that’s what you want out of life-”

She flicks him sharply in the nose, then wraps her arms around him. 

“Marco fucking Bodt.”

“Ymir fucking Langer-Bodt.” He nuzzles her hair. “You’re going to be so good at being 30.”

“Can’t get much worse than how it started, huh?” She pulls back far enough to look at him, her voice dropping. “I’m probably only saying this because I’m still emotionally compromised, but do you need to talk about what happened with Jean?” She clears her throat awkwardly. “I actually uh...I tried to call him this morning.”

“Christa told me.”

“Yeah that flew like a rock.”

He kisses her forehead softly. 

“Thank you for trying. And for the offer. But right now, I think you should go to bed. You had a long night.”

“And not even in the good way, right? Shit.” Ymir pulls away. “Yeah, let’s go back inside. Christa’s probably wondering if she needs to kill you and eat your corpse.”

Marco opens his mouth to retort but is cut off by a shout from below. 

“HEY!” The cousins look over the railing together to see Connie standing in the snow below them. “Don’t any of you assholes answer your phones anymore?!”

“Don’t you know how a doorbell works?” Ymir folds her arms across her chest. “Or do you usually just yell at people from their yards until they let you in?”

“I just got here and saw you guys having some kind of moment or whatever!” Connie is red-faced, practically vibrating. “Look is Sasha with you guys? My phone died, and I've been trying to charge in the car but I got to IHOP like ten minutes after you left, and now her phone is off or something and-”

“Yeah, she’s here,” Ymir says, “Do you want me to-”

“Connie?” Sasha appears on the balcony as though summoned, and Marco jumps a little. 

“Sasha!” Connie's face breaks into a look of such absolute joy and relief that Marco actually chokes when he follows up with “What the fuck?!” 

“What the fuck do you mean what the fuck?” Sasha leans over the balcony. 

“Why didn’t you come home last night?”

“You know why!”

“Honestly I’m not sure that I do, but uh, I think some signals got crossed,” he folds his arms around his chest and looks up at her longingly. “Will you come home now, though? We need to talk and as Shakespearean as this is, I don’t actually want to have the whole conversation outside. Especially not in front of those two.” He gestures at Marco and Ymir.

“Hey now,” Ymir says coolly, “You’re one to talk, you catty little tool.”

“I dunno, Con,” Sasha chews her lip, “I’ve had a rough night, I-”

“Do you need me to sing to you?! Because I’ll sing to you this time! I even picked out the perfect song! I KNOW THAT I’VE GOT ISSUES, BUT YOU’RE PRETTY MESSED UP TOO-”

“Oh my god,” Ymir recoils and Marco can’t help wincing; Connie can sing well when he wants to, but he’s definitely choosing passion over style at this moment. Nevertheless, Sasha seems taken. 

“EITHER WAY I FOOOUND OUT, I’M NOTHING WITHOUT YOOOOOU!”

“CUZ WE BELONG TOGETHER NOW!” Sasha nearly falls over the railing in her enthusiasm to sing back, her cheeks wet for a completely new reason. 

“FOREVER UNITED HERE SOMEHOW!” Connie returns. 

“Both of you knock it off before someone calls the cops!” Ymir shouts. “And by someone I mean me, right now!”

“YOU GOT A PIECE OF ME! AND...” Sasha stops short suddenly, freezing and then darting back inside. Connie looks up at them and frowns. Ymir rolls her eyes and Marco shrugs. There’s a pause of about about ten seconds, though, before a brunette without shoes or a coat is barrelling across the yard towards the short man. “AND HONESTLY!”

“MY LIFE!” Connie holds opens his arms wide.

“WOULD SUCK!” Sasha shouts.

“WITHOUT YOU!” He catches her as she leaps at him and they both fall over into the snow, a tangle of arms and legs and kisses and tears. 

“Well that sure was...something,” Marco can’t help smiling.

"Something awful." Ymir sticks out her tongue. "What is this romcom my life is turning into?"

"I'm sorry that not everything can be cold war conflicts."

"So am I."

Little by little, the broken pieces of the world are coming back together. And it’s about time those two got their actual feelings sorted out. Maybe something good came out of the cataclysm after all. 

“You two are gonna get arrested for indecency!” Ymir hollers at them after another minute. “Get off my lawn!”

They do pick themselves up, but they don’t say another word to the watchers on the balcony. Instead Connie bends over and Sasha jumps onto his back; he carries her piggyback to the car, and then they’re peeling out of the parking lot Fast and Furious-style. 

Christa and a newly-showered Mina join them on the balcony a few moments later, the former holding Sasha’s coat and boots, the latter pulling her wet hair into place. 

“So Sasha forgot these...”

“Don’t worry,” Marco rubs his finger under his nose, “Where they’re going I don’t think she’ll need them.”

Christa looks over at him, her face hard. Ymir puts a hand on his shoulder, though, and her expression quickly melts into a grateful if wobbly smile. 

“Oh thank goodness,” she sets down Sasha's things to swipe her fingertips under her eyes, “I don’t know how much longer I could have handled things if you hadn’t made up.”

“It’s okay now, babygirl,” Ymir goes to her, wrapping her in a warm, loving hug. “We’re okay.”

“It’s funny, though,” Mina is still looking out at Connie’s vacated spot. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he talked about her non-stop last night. It’s like he was so excited to tell someone how great he thinks she is and how much he loves her that he forgot she was in the room and ignored her.”

“People do shitty things when they’re drunk,” Marco stuffs his hands into his pockets and swallows hard. He’s held them back this long, but now that the situations with half of his friends is resolved, thoughts of Jean are starting to seep back in around the edges of his mind. “And they say shitty things too.”

“Marco,” Christa holds out her hand to him. He takes it, squeezes it, lets it go. 

“I should get home. I need a shower or three, and to sleep somewhere not on the bathroom floor.”

“Yeah,” Ymir yawns loudly, “I am fucking exhausted.”

“Let me put you to bed, sweetheart,” Christa starts to pull her inside. 

“I’ll drive you home, Marco,” Mina offers. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll do some schoolwork at your house while you sleep, then maybe later if you’re up to it we could get some food we actually want to eat?”

“That sounds good,” he nods, “I’d like that.”

“Cool. Let me go to get my things.”

As Mina leaves, Marco looks down at the rumpled snow where Connie and Sasha had their reunion. His heart aches, and he pulls out his phone. Two messages from Eren, three from Connie, one from Armin. He’ll read them later. He’s not up for it right now. 

And there’s nothing from Jean. Not that he expected any different, but after the day’s slow improvements, he’d allowed himself to hope, just a little. 

That won’t be an easy fix, though, if it can be fixed at all. 

He goes to his contact list, tracing his thumb over Jean’s name until Mina pokes her head back outside.

“You ready?”

“Yeah,” Marco says, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

-

He showers. He sleeps. At one point he wakes up, goes to use the bathroom, and sees Mina on the couch typing away at her laptop. There’s an instant where he thinks about asking her to come to bed with him - just once, for old time’s sake - but he catches it when he realizes he wants to do it purely to spite Jean, and he’s not even sure how that would work. Wouldn’t it just make him exactly what Jean already thinks he is? Besides, Mina’s gorgeous and curvy, not handsome and sharp. It would be a poor substitute, and he knows he’d regret it a thousand times over. 

_Finally starting to make some good decisions, Marco, it’s about fucking time._ He makes himself drink an entire glass of water, then returns to bed. 

Mina wakes him up around six when she gets too hungry to wait for him anymore. He violently shoots down both her suggestions of pizza or just swinging by McDonald’s, and they end up ordering Chinese from a cheap but decent place that will actually deliver. Marco is almost certain he’s never eaten anything as good as this beef lo mein, and he actually finishes Mina’s order of orange chicken as well.

They idly surf Netflix, not really finding anything to watch, and Mina talks a little bit about the guy she’s sort of seeing: another anthropology student named Nac. They’ve been talking about going to Kenya together over their spring break, visiting the Koobi Fora site, somewhere she’s always wanted to go. Nac’s even gotten together some funding from the university for them to make the trip, but Mina keeps putting off the decision.

She twirls her hair around her finger nervously as she talks, and Marco finally asks, “What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, blushing a little, “I guess if we’re traveling together it might mean something serious is happening.”

“Oh no, what a nightmare.”

She rolls her eyes a little.

“I mean...I like him. I like him a whole lot. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. But it’s kind of a big deal to go somewhere with someone, spend every day close to them. It can be stressful, you start to see parts of them that aren’t especially attractive.”

Of course that makes him think of Jean. Jean with his unappealing attitude and dark scowl, his lousy sense of timing and his awkward jealousies. Jean, who, for all intents and purposes, was nothing _but_ unattractive qualities. And that’s why Marco started to fall for him in the first place.

“I don’t know that that’s a bad thing,” he starts, and Mina cocks her head to the side. “I mean...you have to find these things out eventually, right? He sounds nice, you seem to like each other...what do you have to lose?”

“Everything?” She looks at him like it’s the most obvious answer in the world, then frowns. “...I’m sorry, wow, I didn’t...that came out wrong.”

He blinks, then realizes what she’s talking about and laughs humorlessly.

“Oh I saw all his bad qualities from the start. He didn’t try to hide anything. I was instantly in love.” 

“Obviously he kept something from you,” Mina pulls up her knees and wraps her arms around them. “Or you wouldn’t have had your big shakedown last night.”

Marco scowls.

“He thinks he’s a failure because he’s his sister is apparently a genius and he couldn’t pass the bar on the first time.”

“....it’s gotta be something more than that.”

“No, it’s...it’s mostly that.” Marco leans back with an irritated sigh. “He thinks he has to keep the good and gentle parts of himself under wraps because...I don’t know, I guess because he’s so incredibly insecure that he thinks if people know he’s just a big stupid baby they won’t take him seriously, and then he’ll never be a rich lawyer like his mom.”

“You sure do sound sympathetic and understanding.”

“I’m angry at him.” Marco surprises himself by saying it, but it’s true. As much as he craves any kind of word or sign from Jean, he’s honestly still mad. “The things he said last night… I’ve been falling all over myself for him since we met, and then I get drunk, I tell people he has cute little pets and that we had sex. And he completely freaks out about it, as if...this whole he was just waiting for me to admit I was just playing with him, looking for some chance to humiliate him or drag him down, when that was the last thing that I wanted to do.” He takes a sharp breath. “In fact he actually said as much. He had the nerve to throw my feelings back at me and say they weren’t real, when he’s the one who’s been running from reality for who knows how long.”

Mina considers this for a moment. 

“To be fair,” her words are careful, “It sounds like you did break his trust, to some extent. He’d expected some things to be kept between the two of you.”

“So I made a mistake. That doesn’t give him the right to just flat out deny my feelings. I was being honest and all I got for it was nothing.”

“Maybe Jean’s not able to be as honest with himself as you are, and that scares him.”

Marco feels a prickle of recognition at that. He sits up a little, trying to puzzle it out as the pieces are slowly revealed to him. 

“...Reiner said, and Armin agreed, actually, that Jean isn’t capable of being honest with himself, so he can’t be honest with anyone else.”

“Someone like that,” Mina leans forward intently, “Someone who’s so damaged and so intent on keeping everything that hurt them away, they’re going to look for someone to trust. But when that person turns out to be honest, to be capable of saying the things that scare them the most, making them face the bad stuff… of course they’re going to assume that you’ve utterly destroyed all the trust they placed in you. Because if you did care about them, how could you be willing to show them what they are?”

Marco goes cold. He stares at her. 

“...but I...I was trying to…” The words “self-fulfilling prophecy” flash through his mind, as vicious now as they were in his throat when he yelled them. “I was trying to make him see…” He can hardly breathe now. “I was trying to…” He swallows hard. “I love him.”

“And I believe you, Marco, but I’m not running from my past or my failures. I’m not afraid of your affection or how it might make me feel about myself. Jean, though… you broke minor levels of trust when you told things he thought were secrets, and yes, I understand that was an accident and that you’re sorry, but then you told him what you think of him, what you really think: that you see him as who he is and you love him anyway, and that was too much for him. That was too honest.”

And it’s that simple. 

Marco sees it all clearly. It was meant as a plea, a declaration of his longing, but it must have seemed like the ultimate betrayal of a fragile trust: Marco had told Jean he loved him, then thrown him to the wolves of his self-doubt. 

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes stinging. “Fuck.”

Mina wraps her arms around him, and he leans his head against hers.

“I thought getting older would make this kind of thing easier,” he tries to keep his voice even, “I thought by now I’d have it all figured out, and I’d know what to do and what to say. But all I know is that I’m sorry and I’m still angry and I love him so badly.”

“It’s okay, all of that is okay,” she rocks him gently. “And you’ll figure what to say. Right now it still hurts. Give yourself some time. Give Jean some time.”

“If you’re going for a ‘time heals all wounds’ sort of vibe-”

“Hardly,” she says dryly, “I’m saying give yourself some leeway on the whole ‘I’m an adult and I should know what to do immediately’ front.”

“I am an adult.”

“And being an adult is knowing when to step back for a little while.”

“...being an adult is so fucking complicated. It’s so many different things that no one ever told you about.”

“I know, right?” She pulls away. “If our high school selves could see us now, they’d probably fall on their asses laughing.”

“They’d be too busy having sex accidents in your mom’s shower to notice.” Marco can feel himself smiling a little. “They thought they knew everything."

"We were so much older then, we're younger than that now."

"You know," Marco laughs softly, "I still don’t take showers with other people because of that.”

“Oh good,” Mina rolls her eyes, “I gave you some kind of shower-related PTSD, fantastic.”

“It was a mutual effort, like so many things that happen between two people.”

Mina pats his cheek, then starts a little as her phone begins to ring. 

“It’s Ymir,” she says, and picks it up. “Hey! ….yeah, we’re fine, how are you?”

While they chat, Marco gathers the dinner detritus and carries it to the kitchen. There’s so many thoughts and wants and aches swirling through his head, it makes him feel as exhausted as if he hadn’t spent the whole day sleeping. There’s so much to do and to be and to say, and all of it begins and ends with Jean. He’s in this as deep as ever, and that much, at least, is a strange kind of comfort. 

When he leans out of the kitchen, Mina is standing up and gathering her things.

“Ymir summoned you back?”

“Yeah, she says they’re going to Sonic, but they’ll wait for me if I want to come.”

“It’s below zero outside, and you’re going to get ice cream?”

Mina shrugs.

“Sounds good to me. Besides, I should head back anyway. My stuff is there I need to get some sleep before I drive home tomorrow.”

Marco picks up her coat from the chairback she’s hung it on, and helps her into it. 

“It’s been good to see you, in spite of everything.”

“Same to you. Don’t be a stranger, text me sometimes.” She pulls her pigtails out of her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, Marco.”

“Eventually, probably.” He hugs her, then holds the door. “Drive safely, okay?”

“I always try to.” She gives him a thumbs up.

"Hey," he calls as she's opening the driver's side door. "Tell me how things work out with Nac? If getting to know his bad side or risking losing everything is as scary as it seems."

"Will do!" She waves, and slips into the car.

He watches as she pulls out and disappears into the night. 

Marco turns off the TV (they never did decide on a movie to watch), and one by one shuts off the living room lights. The apartment plunges into darkness, but he knows it well enough to find his way back to his bedroom by instinct alone. What does surprise him, though, as he settles into bed, is an extra pillow near his head. He was too out of it to notice earlier, but now he reaches for it, and the texture is different than he expected. It confuses him for a moment before he realizes what it is: the pillow with his shirt that smelled like Jean on it. In cruel irony or an accidental blessing, the scent is still there. He sighs deeply. 

Then he punches the pillow as hard as he can, before wrapping both arms around it tightly, pressing his face deeply into the center. And that’s how he spends the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was better, right?
> 
> Right?
> 
> ...I'll just get back in the box, then.
> 
> See you next Wednesday! :D


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got to climb to the top of Mount Everest to get to the Valley of the Dolls. Marco's soul-searching journey may be much more localized, but it's no less painful, difficult, or important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone suggested that every day be renamed "Wednesday" and I'm wondering if that actually did happen because I swear it was just last Wednesday and oh my gosh where did my life go. I'm sorry I haven't yet answered every comment here or on tumblr, but please know that I absolutely will and I continue to cherish every message, every comment, every follow. It's made some rough days infinitely better, and I can't ever thank you guys enough for sharing this with me. 
> 
> This week has a themesong! You can listen to it [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRdmY7u1A_4)
> 
> And I couldn't have done it without the rower. I mean, El Posse de Mogu: [Joanna Estep, marvel among Marvels; Heichousquad ](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com)[Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls) who are both too far from their computers for my liking; and last but absolutely never least, [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks%22%22) (or [Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com) on tumblr) who is my idol and savior.

Marco has five unanswered texts when he wakes up, and none of them are from Jean.

He rubs his eyes and scans them blearily: Armin apologizing for Eren texting him endlessly, three texts from Connie obviously sent while he was looking for Sasha, and one from Reiner asking if everything was all right between Marco and Ymir.

He responds to Reiner first, telling him that yes, everything is fine now. He watched Connie and Sasha’s dorky reunion,, so there’s nothing to say to that, but he thinks a while before answering Armin.

**> >From: Me  
It’s okay. I wasn’t at my best yesterday morning either.**

He wonders if it’s too brief, or too flippant, but honestly, the thought of delving into that drama just makes him want to pull a pillow over his head and try to will himself back to sleep. He feels a bit uncaring, and maybe even rude, but his own heart is badly bruised enough without thinking of the damage Eren and Annie had inflicted on each other. Briefly, he recalls the photo next to Mikasa’s bed, and it occurs to him that she might have suffered the most out of all of this - her family destroyed before her eyes for the second time.

“God damn,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, “What a mess.”

It’s not his to solve, though. Marco drags himself out of bed and makes himself take another shower, then searches his kitchen for something to eat. There’s almost nothing, but then again, he hasn’t been grocery shopping in ages. He’d gone out every night last week; he’d spent almost every evening with Jean.

His chest tightens at the thought, in anger or longing, he can’t tell. In spite of his conversation with Mina, he’s still sore all over from their confrontation, stinging and stung, unfocused and unbalanced and sad.

Just sad.

He goes to the store and makes himself pick out reasonable things -noodles, pasta sauce, a few apples, a bag of carrots, rice, eggs - the sort of stuff a real person might have in their kitchen instead of endless boxes of microwavable macaroni and poptarts.

 _I’m learning to be a grown-up,_ he thinks, trying to cheer himself up, but it feels heavy and hollow.

When he goes home, he puts everything away except an apple and he munches on that as he tries to sort out what he’s going to do with his day. It’s strange not to have to go to work, and it’s extra strange that he’s glad he doesn’t have to go anywhere or see anyone. In fact he feels no desire whatsoever to talk to another human. He checks his phone again, and when the only sign of communication is a response from Reiner to his previous message, he decides that at least for today, he’s going to operate in radio silence mode. No texts, no answers. Just Marco, his house and whatever he decides to do.

But then he’s at a loss. He tries to watch TV, but he comes across the “IT Crowd” and he thinks of Jean.

He picks up “Heart-Shaped Box” by Stephen King’s son, then he remembers the conversation he had with Jean about “It,” and he can’t bring himself to read it.

He tries to distract himself with nonfiction, a book by an FBI profiler called “Whoever Fights Monsters” that Eren has read nearly to pieces, but on a day when he already feels alone and isolated, the thought of exploring the dark hearts of some of the worst people in the world doesn’t seem appealing; his own dark heart is hard enough to face.

He ultimately ends up with a book he’d picked out of a discarded sale on a whim: “Valley of the Dolls.” It’s extravagant, overheated soap opera trash, but for whatever reason, he can’t put it down. Maybe it’s the thrill of watching someone else’s trainwreck, someone else’s longing. The basest sentiments ring true for him, even if it takes place over 50 years in the past and Marco isn’t a woman, and it’s already getting dark outside when he’s torn away from it by his phone ringing. He’s tempted to ignore it, but it's Wagner - it’s Ymir, and he remembers at that instant that _shit, today is her actual birthday._

“Hey,” he tries to sound a little more part-of-the-world that he feels. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Heh, ” Ymir’s voice is softer than usual, and Marco can’t help but ache a little. She’s probably still smarting from the weekend too. “Thanks, babyboy. Just calling to see if you wanted to come to dinner with me and Christa after all? The reservation's just for two, but I’m sure we can squeeze you in.”

“Reservation? You mean you’re not just going to eat ‘spicy chicken nugger’ in your Iron Man pajama pants? Wow, it’s like I hardly know the mature woman you’ve become.”

“Fuck you, you’re just jealous of my sweet style. But no, Christa wanted to go out somewhere special. Do you want in?”

He doesn’t even think about it.

“No thanks, I think I’ve ruined enough of your birthday dinners for one year.”

“Pfft, that? I’m so over that.” There’s a waver in the tone that indicates she’s definitely not, but Marco won’t push it. It’s her birthday, and he owes her that much if not a thousand times more. “We’re going to Mia Francesca’s. They have that bruschetta you like. Mmmmm, brushcetta.”

Marco laughs softly.

“Really, Ymir, I’m kind of in a stay at home mood, and I think you and Christa deserve a nice night to yourselves.”

“Dumbass, we live together. We have almost every night to ourselves.”

“Yeah, but you don’t go out to eat every night. I bet she’s even making you dress up.” Ymir grumbles, and Marco laughs a little more fully this time. “She is, isn’t she? Go on, go out, let her spoil you. You know she wants to.”

“She could just get takeout sushi and do a strip tease for me, that’s spoiling in my book.”

“Your book is fucked up and we’d have to keep it in the locked case at the store.”

“That’s a sign of quality!”

“It’s a sign of your moral depravity.”

“You’re one to talk, Deep Throat.” She catches herself almost immediately. “I mean...uh…”

“It’s okay,” Marco shifts a little, clutching at the open book spread on his chest. “If we keep it all off limits forever, it’ll never get better.”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

“No,” it sounds a little guilty, a little petulant, “I haven’t talked to anyone today, really.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” If she were in the room, she would be standing in front of him, arms folded across her chest, face in a bossy scowl, “Or should I say, ‘when are you going to stop moping around like a dumb ho and talk to him?’”

“Later. I don’t know when.” He frowns. “I was talking with Mina last night about it and...I don’t know. There’s things I need to sort out. I don’t know that I can just start with ‘I’m sorry.’ I don’t know that I want to.”

“You uh….you and Mina…”

His eyes narrow even though he knows Ymir can’t see him.

“We didn’t have sex, Ymir.”

“Are you sure?”

“...what the hell do you mean, ‘am I sure!’ Yes, I’m sure! I know what it’s like to have sex with Mina and I didn’t! That was like ten years ago, jesus!”

“I just...shit has been weird lately so I just wanted to make sure…”

Marco isn’t sure if he’d rather kick her or hug her, but that’s a familiar feeling, and it’s not angry. It’s just Ymir.

“I promise. We talked about Jean. I want Jean.”

“You just don’t want to talk to him.”

“It’s not like he wants to talk to me, he hasn’t even tried!” It’s a struggle to keep his words even, to stay on this side of the threatening tears. “Look, it’s your birthday and I want you to do something you’ll be able to remember without needing regression therapy. Trust me when I say that I’ll figure something out, but… today I’m just...I’m….” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m trying to take it slow. I’m trying to be an adult about it. And it’s really hard.”

Ymir is silent for several long moments, then makes a low but warm sound.

“I know it’s hard. I just want to protect you from all the difficult and mean things in the world.”

“You’d have to protect me from myself.”

“So fucking what? I’d do it. You don’t think I could?”

“I know you would,” and he does. He absolutely knows. “But I have to do this part alone. This is my mess, and I’ll fix it. Please just have a good time tonight with Christa. Enjoy Club Epic.”

She sighs, but he can tell it’s the one of irritated resign.

“Okay, it’s your loss, toots. But call me if you need anything all right?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Call me. If you need. Anything.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I will.”

“All right. Have a good night, then, I’ll talk to you later.”

For a moment he wants to tease her about how ridiculously hovery she’s being - he snapped at her for not being his mother yesterday, but now he wants to point out that she’s taken care of him like a sister and more for as long as he’s been alive, and he’s grateful.

Instead, he calls, “Hey, Ymir,” before she can hang up.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Oh my god,” she groans, “Go back to being an immature asswipe, this is getting too touchy-feely for me.”

“Bye, ‘cuz!” He says as brightly as he can manage, and makes out a muffled, embarrassed, but honest “I love you too bye” before the connection is broken.

He sits for a little while before returning to his book. Knowing for sure that everything is all right with Ymir has certainly improved something in his mood, but more tears need be patched before he’s whole again. He retreats back into “Valley,” where people chase and earn their own happiness only to ruin it, or be ruined by it. It’s almost an allegory (except for all the drug use), and when he’s done Marco feels both chastened by how stupid people can be in the face of their own desires, and dirty for pretty much reading the whole sordid book in one sitting.

 _At least I accomplished something today,_ he thinks, getting up and making himself a bowl of decidedly unfancy spaghetti. _One step at a time._

He checks his phone once more -nothing, of course- then plugs it in, and goes to bed.

-

Tuesday starts much like Monday, and Marco is finding it increasingly lame. It’s uncomfortable to have this kind of freedom to do whatever he wants and not be able to think of a goddamn thing he’d actually enjoy, so he makes himself do things he doesn’t want to do: laundry, changing his sheets, sweeping, cleaning the bathroom sink. At the end of it, his apartment looks great, but Marco feels increasingly agitated. He tries to calm down by jerking off in the shower, but it’s utterly fruitless - all his fantasies revolve around Jean. Marco can barely think of his face without picturing the other man’s tears, and while thinking “I should have kissed them away, I should have held him” is poetic, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hardly arousing and beyond impossible now.

His phone starts pinging steadily as he fixes his hair. Either one person (probably Connie) is really excited to talk to him, or his friends are communicating again. It’s almost enough to make him smile.

**> >From: Reiner  
Realize this is ymirs thread from her birthday but its the best way to contact ebvetuone. Bert’s spent the last day in the kitchen cooking like a crazy person so were Boston quichecest 2014 over here if anyone wants in.**

**> >From: Eren  
BOSTON?**

**> >From: Sasha  
Quichecest sounds both intriguing and upsetting.**

**> >From: Annie  
Reiner, when I remember that you’re not actually illiterate, it’s both a relief and a crushing disappointment.**

**> >From: Connie  
Come on, annie, reiner is a man who knows what e wants and what he wants doesnt have to be spelled right**

**> >From: Sasha  
And what he wants is quichecest. That most forbidden of cests.**

**> >From: Eren  
LOL**

Huh. Eren and Annie on the same thread and no one is yelling (or at least probably not, since Eren always types in all caps, so it’s hard to tell). That’s interesting.

**> >From: Reiner  
Q u I c h e f e st**

**> >From: Connie  
what sort of festivities will be involved? If its a fest are there gonna be rides? Fireworks?**

**> >From: Armin  
Please no more fireworks.**

**> >From: Eren  
FIREWORKS IF ANNIE AND I ARE IN THE SAME ROOM TOGETHER JK LOL**

Marco actually just stares at the phone at that. Well. Wow. Something’s sure happened, even if he has no idea what.

**> >From: Connie  
I can’t decide if this is awkward or arousing**

**> >From: Sasha  
Or both.**

**> >From: Connie  
Awkrousing. Arouseward.**

**> >From: Reiner  
Jesus people do you want to come over and eat my husband’s flaky pastry or not?**

**> >From: Connie  
is that a metaphor?**

**> >From: Sasha  
OOOOO has he graduated from housewife form husband? What have you 2 been doing with these days off work?**

**> >From: Connie  
Relationship status update: reiner and bert got married or some shit. Also SASHA AND I ARE TOGETHER OKAY. YOU CAN ALL START BREATHING AGAIN.**

**> >From: Sasha  
<3 <3 <3**

**> >From: Annie  
No one is surprised.**

**> >From: Armin  
Congratulations, you guys. :)**

**> >From: EREN  
THAT ONLY TOOK LIKE 700 YEARS**

**> >From: Connie  
Also if you’ve had sex in the past 30 minutes then youre qualified to sing with us.**

**> >From: Sasha  
nudge nudge wink wink**

**> >From: Eren  
TMI I FEEL SO DIRTY NOW**

**> >From: Reiner  
Good god forgetnini don’t want you people in my house after all**

**> >From: Connie  
nope! too late free food we’re on our way!**

**> >From: Annie  
I’ll be down in a little while.**

**> >From: Mikasa  
We’re having a family meeting. Perhaps we’ll come over when we’re done.**

**> >From: Reiner  
Marco? Jean? Ymir? Christa?**

Marco sees his name and raises his thumbs to respond...

**> >From: Armin  
Christa’s probably at work, Reiner.**

**> >From: Eren  
YEAH SHE HAS A REAL JOB REMEMBER. HAS ANYONE ACTUALLY HEARD FROM MARCO OR JEAN SINCE SAT?**

**> >From: Connie  
Normally i would have but i admit to being unavailable the past day due to EXTREME SEXYTIMES**

**> >From: Sasha  
bow chicka bow bow**

**> >From: Annie  
I can’t tell if this is better or worse than before.**

Marco sighs, suddenly feeling both too included and terribly left out. People are thinking about him, but not enough to reach out, and who is he to complain? Everyone has had their own issues, but apparently most of them have been resolved, and he’s still here, sitting in the same pile of rubble, unwilling or unable to pick up the pieces.

He’s not quichefest material, that’s for damn sure.

**> >From: Me  
Taking the time off work to do some chores, thanks for the invite though!**

It’s short and concise, and he sets the phone down after that. He can see Eren respond “:(“ before the screen goes dark, and he sighs.

What the actual fuck is wrong with him.

It’s horrible to feel this way, as though someone is toggling the switches of his emotions, and all he can feel are extremes. He’s lonely but making himself stay alone; angry at things he said or didn’t say, things he heard or didn’t hear.

He wants to push his friends away, sequester himself in brooding darkness. He wishes someone would come hug him anyway, in spite of himself.

He wishes he could feel like he’s any closer to fixing himself and he wonders why it’s so easy for everyone else to go on with their lives.

He wonders if everything really is ruined forever.

And then he realizes: this is how Jean feels. This is how Jean feels _every day._

It snaps into place alongside everything he’d discussed with Mina: the need for honesty and the fear of it, the sorrow and the pity, the wounded pride and the guilty shame. The cut that needs antiseptic but doesn’t want the burn that comes along with it, even if it means healing. It's Jean, and it's him just as much.

Marco is suddenly violently unsteady, and he sits down hard on the couch. His hands shake as he picks up his phone again and switches away from the string of texts to the Youtube app, entering the name “Juliana Theory.” A list of options appears, one of them a song apparently called “You Always Say Goodnight, Goodnight.”

He swallows hard, and presses play.

There’s a brief musical introduction, and then the words start: “Did you really think that it was over when you hung up the phone and said goodnight?”

He can’t breathe.

Marco makes it as far as the second verse, the line “I wasn’t gonna tell you I could change things, I’m afraid I never will know how,” before he pauses the song, clicks off the phone, and tosses it away.

It’s too much. He knows now. He knows nothing and he knows everything and Jean said Marco reminded him of this song. He didn’t know anything either but he understood himself more than Marco ever pretended to. What a mess they both are. What a mess they’ve made of each other and everything.

Marco is sure he’s never needed to be held more in his life. He’s never felt so completely, horribly alone, and the way his heart just hurts, worse than any gall bladder pain or surgery or drunken argument, reminds him that he’s tremendously, viciously, terribly alive. He’s getting old and maybe he’ll never be old enough to handle this.

He’s at a loss. He’s unmoored by a rock song, reeling in the waves of his feelings.

 _I know how to deal with this,_ though, he thinks hazily, because some things never change.

He grabs his phone, stumbles to his room to sit on his bed, shakily opens the app again. And then he does something he hasn’t done since he was a teenager: he listens to “Hurt” on loop.

It never used to make him cry when he was younger. He’s old enough now that he can’t stop.

-

**> >From: Eren  
HEY MARCO ARMIN SAID I SHOULD CHECK IN WITH YOU**

**> >From: Eren  
ARE YOU OK?**

**> >From: Eren  
DO YOU WANT TO HANG OUT SOON? MIKASA WANTS ME TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE BEFORE I MAKE HER CRAZY.**

**> >From: Eren  
I’M GONNA CALL YOU OK**

-

“Wow!” Eren exhorts over his green tea frappucino, “You look terrible!”

It’s Wednesday, and Marco laughs weakly as he sits down across from Eren. He’s well aware of the dark smudges under his eyes and that the lids are bruised from crying; there wasn’t much rest during his long dark night of the soul.

“You’re one to talk,” he counters anyway, pointing at the dark green and purple splotch on Eren’s chin.

“Heh,” Eren reaches up to touch it, then winces, “Yeah, uh...don’t punch Annie in the face, okay? It turns out to be, like, a terrible idea.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever considered it.”

“Well some people make better decisions than others.”

“I dunno about that,” Marco sighs, and Eren looks at him sympathetically.

“You want to get something to drink? You look like you could use at least a gallon of coffee.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

He leaves his coat at the table, then goes to stand at the end of the line. It’s the early lunch rush, but it gives him a chance to look at the menu longer - after all this time, he shouldn’t need to, but he wants to consider his options. It might be time to start to change from always doing the same thing.

Marco returns to the table a few minutes later with a danish and a cup of peppermint tea. It’s too hot to drink, so he takes the top off, and Eren wrinkles his nose, talking around his straw.

“The hell?”

“I thought I’d try something different,” Marco shrugs, rubbing under his nose before breaking off a corner of the danish. “So what’s up?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“I don’t know,” Marco chews, “The last time I saw you, you’d been hitting ballerinas, then yesterday you were joking about it.”

Eren snorts.

“I guess we both have a lot to answer for, huh?”

“Something like that.” Marco blows on his tea, then sips it carefully. “But you’re the one who called me out.”

“Armin was concerned,” he shrugs, “And I guess I was too. No one had really spoken to you since Sunday, but Armin heard from Reiner and Bert that you and Ymir had a fight.”

“How did Armin know?”

“He stayed at Annie’s until Monday. And of course Reiner was going to talk to her about...us. I guess they ended up talking about you too.”

“I think I’m touched?”

“People are worried about you, Marco,” his face is warm and sympathetic. “Normally you’re a bastion of stability in a crazy world.”

“And other times I’m putting my foot in it so far I nearly lose my leg. There’s not really much to say. I messed up pretty bad. I’m not sure I can fix it.” The song echoes in his head. “I’m afraid I won’t know how.”

“Oh come on,” Eren rolls his eyes, “If I can punch my best friend’s girlfriend and then go back to sleeping with him two days later, I’m sure you haven’t done anything irreparable.” He pauses. “Wait, that came out...weird.”

“‘Girlfriend,’ huh?” He picks up the danish; god he’s hungry. “It’s official, then?”

“May as well be.”

“And you’re all right with that?”

Eren leans back, stirring the remains of the whipped cream into the mint-colored slush below it.

“What else am I gonna do? Keep making a fucking ass of myself?” Those big green eyes are full of self-admonishment. It’s a look Marco has rarely, if ever, seen on Eren, who is normally as sure of his convictions as he is that the earth moves. “I’ve been a shitty friend this past week. To Armin, to Annie, to Mikasa, to...pretty much everyone.”

Marco shifts, folding his arms on the table.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“I was being selfish. I mean...I don’t think it was totally unwarranted, but like, okay… last Wednesday, Annie and Armin corner me to tell me that they’re going out. And I’m kind of embarrassed to say that I took it...inexplicably badly?”

“I got that sense.”

“Yeah, well, what right did I have to take it badly? Armin and I aren’t married, even though it seems that way sometimes. I don’t own him.” The other man hangs his head a little. “And I was the one stupid enough to think Armin would be there forever.”

“Eren,” Marco starts, concerned.

“No no, not like that, I mean…” He blows some of his bangs out of his eyes and looks up at the ceiling. “There were times when I wondered if Armin wanted something more from me than just...what we have. And then I’d decide ‘well, I’ll figure it out later.’ Armin being with me is like breathing, I never questioned it and I never looked deeper at it. And then suddenly Annie was there too, and I guess...the simple explanation is, if it’s not Mikasa, I’m not used to having to share Armin with anyone.”

Marco can’t help but smile a little at that.

“I know what that’s like, a bit.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he traces the rim of his cup, “When Ymir first started dating Christa. Suddenly times when I would expect Ymir to want to hang out with me, she’d be with this stranger. I wasn’t the sole focus of her attention anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah!" Eren nods, “Like that! So like...I suddenly thought ‘oh my god, Armin’s not going to love me anymore.’ And then I started thinking about what he meant to me, and I was like, 'if Armin’s going to date anyone, it should be me, right? Don’t I deserve that more than Annie?’” He sighs. “But the thing is though, I don’t know that I want to date Armin. I think I might, but do I feel that way because now I can’t? I’d never really thought about it before, and...and I panicked.” He shakes his head. “I asked Levi out. Right in front of Erwin and Hanji.” His eyes dart to Marco’s. “You know he’s with Erwin?”

“...it was suggested to me, yeah.”

“It’s for real, though, wrap your head around that one if you want to, so of course Levi said no and I felt stupid and useless and it just...spiralled out from there.” He stops, making a face.

“...Eren?”

“Ice cream headache,” he grits out, pushing his fingers into his forehead for a few seconds, then breathing out in relief. “Damn you, frappucino, I wish I knew how to quit you. Anyway.”

“Anyway.”

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but I have very large emotions.”

“You? Never.”

“Shocking, right?” laughs Eren, “But yeah, big emotions, big turmoil about my relationship with Armin, it was like an earthquake. And just as the ground stopped shaking, I went and poured alcohol directly on all the fires and boom.” He makes a little exploding motion with his hands. “I’m punching Annie in the face. And what’s awful is I _like_ Annie. I like Annie a lot. But all of a sudden I think she’s the devil and…” He shakes his head. “And Mikasa and I are walking all the way home at night in February because I’m too drunk and angry to take a cab and I won’t go back to the restaurant and apologize.”

Marco is quiet for a moment, peering into his tea, before saying, “I’m glad Mikasa was with you.”

“I know, right?” He turns sheepish for a moment, “I think I yelled some crappy stuff at her too on the way home, but she stuck by me. She dumped me in the shower as soon as we got back, but I don’t really blame her for that. It felt pretty good, especially after that walk.”

“Were you sick?”

“Amazingly no,” -Marco sighs in envy- “But I felt like I might be when I woke up in the middle of the night and she was crying.” Eren’s voice is soft now. “I slept in her room, because of course I was so pissed at Armin that I wasn’t gonna go to ours. And then around like...five or something, I woke up and Mikasa is sitting at her desk with that picture by her bed, the one of us at the ocean? And she’s crying.” The other man looks like he might actually be tearing up himself at the memory. “That was the worst. That’s when I knew I’d hit rock bottom. Because Mikasa doesn’t cry, okay. Even after everything we’ve been through, even after all the dumb shit I’ve done during our lives, she’s been right next to me. Her faith in me, in us… it’s been rock solid until that night. And I took that away from her because I was too angry to think straight. That wasn't okay. Mikasa doesn't deserve that, and I owe her a whole lot better than I've been giving.”

“...and then you started texting everyone to find out where Armin was.”

“Yeah,” Eren rubs the back of his head and looks down into the dregs of his drink. “I admit to still being a little out of it at that point, and still emoting kind of hugely, but he wasn’t answering his phone and I was desperate. I just wanted to apologize. I was self-medicating with showtunes so bad Mikasa hid my 'Best of Sondheim' cd even though I know 'Being Alive' by heart. And I mean, like...I’m still not happy the way he handled this? I think he should have come out with everything ages ago, and even if we’d stumbled, we’d have gotten through it. But having him say sorry first didn’t matter anymore. I just wanted him back. I would have done anything.”

Marco’s throat feels tight as he asks, “Did he apologize?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eren looks a little embarrassed, “He came home Monday morning and it was just...oh my god, tears, everywhere. I know we both apologized, and then we kind of...left each other alone for the rest of the day. I called Annie to set things right with her. He and Mikasa had a long talk, and then yesterday we had our ‘family meeting,” he makes the air quotes around the words, “To talk about how we’re gonna move forward.”

Marco sits back a little, looking at Eren with a wonder he’s certain he’s never felt for his friend. To be honest, Eren has often seemed to be the most immature and reckless person in the store, even moreso than Connie. Eren is the one whose large emotions have gotten him into trouble with customers and Levi, and his obliviousness to other people’s feelings made Marco think more than once that Eren lived entirely in his own world.

He knows now that he was wrong. Eren has surpassed him on the adulthood success scale by leaps and bounds, taking responsibility, owning up to his failures, forgiving the faults of the people he loves. He’s stepped up to it, and Marco feels cowardly and small in his shadow. He shifts around in his seat a little before responding. 

“And? What’d you decide?”

“I mean, we’re a family, right? Family means no one gets left behind. Or forgotten.”

“...thanks, Stitch.”

“No, but seriously. We are a family. And if being a family means sorting out...whatever I feel about Armin while respecting what he feels for Annie? Then that’s what it takes. Like I said, I like Annie. Mikasa likes Annie. If Armin's going to be with someone other than me, I think Annie’s a good choice.” He purses his lips for a moment, then adds, a little slyly. “Also she’s super hot.”

Marco can’t help smiling.

“She is, isn’t she.”

“We uh...might also have discussed the possibility of…” Eren clears his throat, “Some kind of sharing.”

“...do you mean what I think you mean?”

“I probably do.”

“And how does Annie feel about that?”

“Surprisingly okay?” Eren says, “Like, really surprisingly okay, which makes me wonder a little about her past and her 'friendship contract' with Bert and Reiner, but I don’t think I’m allowed to ask about that. At least not yet.”

“That’s awesome, Eren,” Marco is proud of his friend even as the smallest bit of jealousy gnaws at him.

“I think it’s gonna be okay, yeah,” Eren nods, then bites his lip and furrows his brow. "I’m sorry, though, I just like...talked a hundred years and I’m supposed to be here trying to make you feel better.”

“There’s nothing for it,” Marco shrugs, “Jean and I had a fight about...everything we assumed we knew about each other, I guess. And I haven’t spoken to him since.”

Eren has that “injured tarsier” look on his face again, and Marco is tempted to tell him that it’s about as creepy as it is charming.

“You think he’s super pissed? I mean, like, more than usual?”

“I know he’s super pissed, more than usual. And that’s what’s awful, I thought things were going so well and then...it just all fell apart in my hands. I’ve gone over what we said and I don’t know how to take any of it back.”

“.....have you tried saying ‘I’m sorry?’” Eren holds up his hands in defense at Marco’s glare. “I’m just saying, is all!”

“No,” Marco plays with the tag at the end of his teabag, “I, um…” He clears his throat. “I haven’t wanted to.”

“....oh. Well. Uh.”

“I’m getting there now, though,” he says, looking at Eren pleadingly. “I had to sort some of my own shit out first. I’ve been struggling with the idea that I was right and that I know how to handle everything because I’m a grown-up and now...it’s becoming clear that there’s not really a right or wrong here, and I have a long way to go.”

“Do you really love him?” Eren asks.

“I love him,” Marco doesn’t miss a beat. “I love him so much.”

“I’m just throwing this out there, but have you tried that whole, ‘if you love something, set it free’ thing?”

Marco narrows his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No no, because like...if you love something, set it free, and if it comes back to you, it was always yours.”

“Jean walked away from me, Eren, and he’s not the type to come back unless I go get him.”

“Are you sure?” Eren cocks his head to the side. “Because people can surprise you. Hell, he surprises me every time he does something not totally moronic.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I know how you feel about him, Eren.”

“He’s different around you, though. Maybe you can’t see it, but everyone else can. And maybe...he’s just as afraid to apologize as you are. You said you thought you knew stuff about each other, but you were wrong. Maybe you’re wrong here too. Maybe you still don’t know enough.”

Marco blinks.

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Dude, let me attest that you can live in someone’s pocket for like twenty years and still be surprised by them.” His expression goes soft and reflective, the kind of face that, like Mikasa's expression genuine joy, is reserved for someone or someones very special. “Mikasa and Arnin surprise me every day. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.” He raises his head, the private look disappearing as he smiles at Marco. “I couldn’t make it much longer than a few days without finding out new things about them. It’s why I did whatever I could to make things right, because I couldn't stand the thought of losing any time with them. My short fuse aside, it's not worth letting things fester with the people you love. You have to stand up to what's bothering you and them and fix it. That’s what it takes, even if it means stepping on your pride and taking some blows.”

“Even to the chin from ex-dancers?”

“Even then. Did you see her form though? Oh, no, right, you were outside, but oh my god, that girl’s legs are amazing.”

“I’ve heard as much,” Marco says dryly, “From gayer sources than you.”

“But yeah. I’m just. I mean. You were happy at Mikasa’s party. With him. I saw it, and you told me. I may rather lick the underside of my cabinets than want to get near Jean’s dick, but he makes you happy. And I think we all deserve that, even if we fuck up sometimes.”

Marco can’t help reaching over and feeling Eren’s forehead.

“What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Are you sure Annie didn’t jar something lose when she kicked you? It’s like you’ve leveled up and I’m trying to believe you’re the same person.”

“Oh my god,” Eren swats his hand away, “Shut up, I have my moments. Besides, you can’t get into as many fights as I have without gaining some experience points.”

“True.” Marco stretches.

Eren’s phone starts ringing then, a picture of Armin asleep with a book on his face appearing along with the “X-Files” theme. Eren glances at Marco, who nods, and then he answers.

“Hey babe,” he grins, “....yeah, he’s alive. I promise.” He tilts the phone away from his mouth a little. “Do you want to talk to Armin, Marco, or do you want me to fill him in?”

“I trust you to fill him in.”

“I’ll tell you in a bit, you ready for me to come get you? ….Sure, like fifteen minutes. See you then.” He hangs up and smiles apologetically at Marco. “I dropped him and Mikasa off at Barnes and Noble before I came down here, I guess they’re ready to go.”

“I’m glad they’re spending their time away from the bookstore at a different bookstore.”

“I know, right?” Eren sighs, “But honestly, I’m like, weirdly ready to go back. It’s felt wrong knowing the store is closed, and especially with how weird shit has been lately, I’m kinda anxious to get back into something I know.”

“Yeah,” Marco finds himself nodding in agreement, “Me too.”

“You want to ride along with me?”

“No, I think I’m gonna sit here a bit longer, thanks though.”

Eren stands up, putting his hand on Marco’s shoulder and squeezing for a moment -“It’s gonna be okay, Marco”- before dashing out the door.

Weirdly enough, Marco is starting to believe him. And that night, before he gets in bed for his opening shift the next morning, he sends two texts he wasn’t sure he’d ever type.

**> >From: Me  
I’d like to talk to you, if you’re willing. And I’m sorry.**

**> >From: Me  
Good night, Jean.**

-

He may not feel like a million bucks as he walks into the store Thursday morning, but it’s at least $500 and that’s close enough. The store itself looks the best he’s ever seen it: the counters are as close to sparkling as they’ll ever get, the display tables are all arranged neatly in color and size order, and even the carpets look significantly less coffee stained. Marco is pretty sure that Levi is behind most if not all of this, but he wouldn’t have expected his boss to stay away from the store as long as everyone else. He does hope, though, that Levi spent some time with Erwin. He deserves that much at least.

When he walks into the back room, Mikasa looks up and smiles gently, and Marco can’t help returning it. She walks with him to Levi’s office, where their short manager is staring grumpily at the schedule.

“Ackerman tells me you and Kirchstein probably shouldn’t be scheduled anywhere together.” Levi raises his trademark glower to Marco. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not really,” Marco shrugs, “And you can schedule me anywhere you want. I’ll be fine.”

Levi eyes him for a moment longer, then glances at Mikasa.

“I guess I was mistaken,” she says simply.

“Whatever,” Levi grumbles, returning to the computer screen. “Go make yourselves useful, there’s plenty of shit to do today.”

As they leave, Levi reaches up, seemingly to adjust his collar, but Marco is almost positive that Levi runs his fingers gently over a fading bruise on his neck. He chooses not to think about it too much, but it’s almost cute.

The store mood is a thousand times better as well, as if the fixing and cleansing had extended past the doors and into each of his friends. Connie and Sasha enter hand in hand, exchanging a sweet kiss before they go to their appointed duties for the day. Reiner, Bert and Armin unload the shipment from corporate in excellent time, and when Eren goes on the coffee run and brings Annie her drink, he stops to check and see how her lip is healing; she admires the bruise she gave him and almost smiles.

And then, of course, there’s Jean.

He hadn’t responded to Marco’s texts, but then again, Marco wasn’t expecting him to. He arrives a minute before he’s supposed to and speaks to no one. His face is a scowl etched in deep lines, and not even Hanji’s chipper nature is enough to make any sort of dent in it. It’s painful to watch him load his cart with books for the sports and nature section; every movement seems to take place in a sad, angry world where Jean is the only inhabitant, and words can’t reach him. Marco isn’t surprised, but he’s still heartsick, moreso when Connie sidles over to tell him that he and Sasha had wrangled Jean into coming out with them the previous night and he’d said no more than 20 words and left as soon as they were done with dinner.

He wants to talk to him. He wants to give him space. He tries to make eye contact with Jean, but Jean’s hazel gaze is fixed firmly on whatever is directly in front of him, and doesn’t wander. When Marco leaves for the day, he’s crouching in front of one of the pet care shelves, staring into it like the abyss.

 _I’ll try tomorrow,_ he thinks. _One step at a time._

In the late evening, he’s playing through “Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass” for the third time when his phone rings.

 _It’s probably Ymir,_ he decides, wondering if he wants to go on nugger run, because no one else would call at this time. It doesn’t occur to him that it’s not her ringtone.

It doesn’t occur to him that it might not be Ymir at all until he’s says “What up, playa,” and is met with silence.

“Marco,” the distinctly male voice finally rasps through the line, irritated but fearful, “It’s Jean.”

Marco nearly drops the phone.

“J-Jean?”

There’s another long pause before Jean clears his throat.

“Can you come over? I need some help.”

He doesn’t ask with what. He doesn’t ask why. Marco is out the door and in his car less than a minute later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highlight of my week:
> 
>  _He's not quichefest material, that's for damn sure._  
>  Monkeysocks: BUT WHO AMONG US CAN TRULY SAY THAT WE ARE?
> 
> And okay, I'll admit it. This time I made almost made myself cry. _Almost._ I hope some of you can take pleasure in that. 
> 
> If you didn't listen to the song before the fic, hopefully you want to listen to it now: ["You Always Say Goodnight, Goodnight" by The Juliana Theory.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRdmY7u1A_4) (Terrible confession: it's one of my favorite songs of all time shhhh)
> 
> Is it safe to come out of the box yet? If not, I'll just hunker back down and see you next week! (Or on [tumblr!](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com))


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After everything that's happened, what could be the biggest night of Marco's life starts out very small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA IT'S STILL WEDNESDAY I MADE IT! Again I apologize for the delay on comments and the update; getting ready for Otakon on top of helping a friend move while going to work every day and then needing to leave my house at 4 in the morning to make a plane is not conducive to free time, which is super obnoxious. Thanks for your patience, though, I hope it's been worth the wait!
> 
> You already know what I'm going to say here, though: THANK YOU. ALL. SO. MUCH. Every week I'm astounded by the comments and the tumblr visits and the yelling. It keeps me going on the rough days in retail. 
> 
> And HEY! If any of you guys are gonna be at Otakon this weekend, come visit me and [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) in Artist's Alley! We're table D13 and we would love to see you!
> 
> Behold the ancient wells from which I draw my power: the aforementioned Joanna; Heichousquad [Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori,](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com) both of whom are tooo far awaaaaay, and the endlessly stunning, Dana-Scully-levels-of-awesome [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks)/[Revolvermonkcelot.](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com) Without them I wouldn't be here.

It occurs to him, once he’s standing on Jean’s doorstep, that Marco probably should have asked Jean to clarify what exactly he needs help with. Moving a fridge? Curing cancer? Perhaps, although it’s almost certainly too much to hope for, Jean’s pants are too tight and he needs help relieving the strain.

Marco sighs at himself; there’s no reason to make this a joke when it might actually be the most important and decisive night of his life. 

Jean opens the door, his appearance even more haggard than it was at work. Marco’s first instinct is to take Jean into his arms and hold him as tightly as he can, but he forces himself to stay still. 

“Hi,” he manages, “I’m here. What’s up?”

Jean regards him like a he doesn’t fully trust him -which is hardly surprising- but steps aside to let Marco in. He stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest as Marco removes his coat, drapes it over the side of the couch, and then turns back to him. 

“...Jean?”

“Thanks for coming,” Jean is now staring at the floor, one hand released from the knot of his arms to rub the back of his neck. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“Of course, we’re-” he stops himself. Jean had said clear as day that he didn’t want to be friends anymore. His heart clenches a little, and he sees Jean wince. “Of course. What do you need?”

“This is so fucking stupid,” Jean exhales raggedly, then looks up at Marco, eyes brimming with tears. “And it’s fucking embarrassing, but I didn’t know who else to call. Um.” He swallows hard. “...Jessica is missing.”

Marco blinks at him. Somehow, he hadn’t considered that it might be a gerbil-related crisis. If they were on good terms, he might have laughed gently at Jean’s adorableness. Now, though, all he can do is frown. 

“How long?”

Jean shrugs, and Marco can see him hug himself a little tighter.

“I noticed she was gone last night. I looked for her under all the furniture and in the cabinets, but no luck. I put out a plastic bin with some food in it like it says on the internet, but she didn’t come get it. I was hoping maybe she’d turn up while I was at work, but…” He shakes his head. 

“Okay,” Marco nods, “So, uh...what’s the next step?”

“I don’t know!” Jean snaps. “I don’t know what else to do! It’s February, Marco! What if she got outside, she’ll freeze to death! What if she’s trapped somewhere or she chewed a wire and electrocuted herself? What if she ended up in someone else’s apartment and ate rat poison or got killed because they thought she was a mouse?!”

“Hey, calm down,” Marco raises his hands in defense, “Let’s stop thinking of worst-case scenarios.”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?!”

“Admittedly, I don’t know?” Marco feels a bit sheepish. “I’m not even sure why you called me, to be honest. I don’t have any experience with lost pets and despite what you think, I can’t actually psychically communicate with yours.”

“What about Ymir’s rabbit?”

“Croissant? What about it?”

“That’s a lost pet!”

“Jean,” Marco rolls his eyes, “That was a bunny that got loose in the summer in the suburbs. It basically walked out of captivity into heaven. And it was a jerk anyway, so we didn’t look for it too hard.”

Jean looks at him so mournfully, with such disdain, that he can barely stand it. He reaches for words to bring up Ymir’s party, to explain himself, his words, his actions, what he’s learned…

“Then you can go home or whatever. Sorry for wasting your time.” Jean’s voice is small.

Marco sighs, reaching out and squeezing Jean’s shoulder. The other man flinches a little, but he doesn’t pull away. 

“I’ll help you look again. I’m here anyway, it’s worth a shot, right?” Jean grunts something that might be “thanks” or “fuck you,” Marco would accept either one right now, as long as it means they’re talking. “Okay, then. Tell me where you want to start.”

-

Being under Jean’s bed is not nearly as fulfilling as being on top of it. Marco has found three socks, a dust bunny of terrifying size, and an unused condom, but no gerbil. When he withdraws from under the bed and hands Jean the condom, the other man blushes. 

“Don’t read into that.”

“What?”

“It probably fell down there when I moved.” Jean just barely opens the drawer on his nightstand, drops the foil package in, and then closes it quickly. “I’m not… I haven’t…” He stops himself, then tries to look as aloof and uninterested as possible. It reads more as “snotty douche,” but it's good to see any expression other than misery on his face. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.”

“No,” Marco rolls his eyes, “You don’t, and I didn’t ask. Where do you want to look next?”

“Maybe you can reach under the couch? Your arms are longer than mine.”

“If you want long arms, you’d’ve done better calling Bert.” Marco stands up and cracks his back, then pads to the living room after Jean, who just scowls. Marco sighs, getting down on his knees and peering under the couch. “Got a flashlight?”

“Yeah.” Jean disappears, returning a moment later and handing it to him. 

Marco swipes the beam back and forth quickly, then goes along each inch of the wall slowly, waiting to see if anything moves… Jean is kneeling next to him, tugging on one of the strings of his hoodie. Marco realizes after a moment, though, that for all his concern, Jean is not making himself particularly useful.

“Jean,” he asks, trying to keep his voice light but cautious, “...Shouldn’t you be looking too?”

“I am looking,” he scowls. “I’ve looked here before.”

“So why are we looking again?”

“In case she’s there now!”

“But you’re not looking under the couch!”

“You’re already doing that!”

“Jean!” Marco rises to his own knees and looks him straight in the eye. “You’re looking at _me_.”

Jean seems to shrink a little at that, immediately turning away, pink highlights on his cheeks. 

“I was watching to see if you might scare her out. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Marco rests his hands on his knees so he doesn’t reach for Jean. “Because if...if you want to...talk or something…”

“I want to find my gerbil!” Jean stands up quickly, stalking to the kitchen. “I’ll fucking look in here, all right! Christ!”

Marco grits his teeth in exasperation, then makes himself close his eyes and take a deep breath. First priority is Jessica. If he can find Jean’s pet, maybe that will earn him points toward having a reasonable conversation. 

But Jessica isn’t under the couch. 

She’s not behind the TV stand. The heating vents are all bolted shut. Marco scans the area around the doorway for small openings to the outside, but the walls seem solid. Jean, meanwhile, is clanking things around in the kitchen cupboards so loudly that he can’t imagine the small rodent wouldn’t be terrified if she was actually in there. 

That leaves two places that can be accessed without starting to move furniture: the bathroom and Jean’s closet. He’s pretty certain neither of them want him to look in there - Jean for the sake of his privacy, and Marco for the sake of not pressing one of Jean’s shirts to his face and inhaling, remembering, longing…

Anyway.

Marco heads to the bathroom, again scanning for broken tiles or places that the wall might separate from the floor. Finding nothing, again, he opens the cabinet under the sink and scans it. The usual toilet paper and bathroom cleaners are present, but they’re all pushed to one side. Curious, Marco look closer. There’s a piece of wood against the back of the cabinet that doesn’t match. It looks like it’s just been placed there, maybe to cover up a hole.

“Jean!” He calls, leaning out from the cabinet when the other man is standing above him. “What’s that?”

“What?”

“That,” he points. 

Jean gets down next to him again, so close that Marco can feel his warmth and smell that Jean could really use a shower. He can’t complain, though, even as Jean’s brows furrow darkly. 

“It’s the fucking hole in the wall my landlord still hasn’t fixed. Sucks heat out of the house, so I try to keep it covered.”

“...So there’s a hole in the wall behind it.”

“Yeah, so?” Jean narrows his eyes. “It’s usually got all those bottles in front of it to hold it in place, she’s not strong enough to-” He pales. “Oh my god. Oh fuck.”

“What?” Marco can’t help himself this time, and puts his hand on Jean’s arm.

“The other day, I was cleaning! I was so fucking...I ran out of shit to do and I was tired of crying, so I was cleaning and I moved the bottles out! I bet the board got titlted and...Then when I was looking for Jessica, I must’ve pushed them back there…” His eyes are wide. “Jesus Christ. I might have trapped her behind that.”

Marco doesn’t allow himself to fixate on “I was tired of crying.” He makes himself look at Jean’s panicked face and try to stay calm for both of them. 

“We don’t know that. She might not be in there.”

“If she’s not there, she’s not anywhere else,” Jean’s hand has found his now, squeezing it almost painfully hard. Marco wonders if Jean is even aware of he’s doing it. “Because I’ve done everything short of tearing the apartment to pieces and I’m pretty sure the security deposit doesn’t cover this sort of thing. But I can’t even believe I would be such a fucking idiot, I mean-”

He keeps talking, berating himself. Not taking his eyes from Jean, Marco carefully moves his hand, shifting and turning it so that instead of having his knuckles crushed against each other, he can lace their fingers together. There’s a surge of warmth through him. How he’s missed this. How he’s missed Jean’s awful dry skin and currently clammy palms. Jean shuts up quite suddenly.

“Jean.” Marco squeezes his hand. “I’m going to move the bottles, and then we’ll see what we find back there. Okay?”

Jean nods, miserable and stricken. Marco’s lips ache from wanting to say anything reassuring or maybe just kiss him until he doesn’t look so heartbroken. Instead, he lets go of Jean’s hand and moves the cleaning supplies to the other side. Once the board is clear, he carefully moves it away, revealing a small dark jagged hole. It’s definitely cooler there, he can feel the temperature change as he carefully reaches in. His fingers sweep across drywall and dust, wooden beams, cobwebs and pipes and wires. He shifts on his knees so he can get deeper inside the cabinet and therefore reach his arm further; he wonders, absently, if Jean is looking at his butt right now, then chides himself for being so incredibly immature and-

His fingertips brush something warm and fuzzy.

And then something warm and fuzzy bites him. 

“OW!” He jerks back, banging his head on the top of the cabinet.

“Marco?!”

“I’m fine,” he grits his teeth and reaches for the angry little beast once more. This time he manages to get his fingers around it, even as it lashes out at him again. There’s no question he’s bleeding, the assault of tiny rodent teeth merciless on the poor knuckle of his index finger, but he moves slowly, draws back carefully, cupping his other hand around the first to keep it safe until he sits back on his heels in the light of the bathroom.

Head throbbing, fingers stinging, Marco looks into Jessica’s tiny fierce eyes. If he’d ever thought rodents were incapable of emotions, he’s seriously reconsidering that now, because she looks like an avenging angel, a wounded warrior princess. Well...she looks like a scared and hungry gerbil, but he can feel her tiny body shivering in his hands, the quickness of her breath; combined with the blood on his hand, he feels as though he’s been judged and found appropriately wanting. He broke his promise to her, and he’s been punished. He deserves it. 

He feels more than ever like he’s holding Jean’s damaged heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says, only realizing it’s out loud when her whiskers twitch. “I’ll do better. I want to do better. Give me another chance?”

“Jessica!” Jean has both hands over his face, fingers spread so he can peer out between them. If he’s heard anything Marco has said, he doesn’t acknowledge it, nor does he reach for her. He seems stunned, caught between his fear and relief.

“She’s okay,” Marco tries to smile, “Probably cold and hungry and tired, but I think she’s gonna be fine.”

Jean reaches out for her as though she’s made of the most fragile glass. He scoops her up from Marco’s hands, a streak of blood ending up on his skin, but he doesn’t notice, smushing his face against the creature and kissing her over and over as his shoulders heave.

“Oh my god, you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trap you in there!”

“I’m sure she knows it was an accident.” 

“Shut up,” he sniffles, “We’re having a moment.”

Marco does what he says, but finds he has to move - his knees are cramping up, and the bleeding hasn’t stopped yet. He gets up and turns on the sink, and Jean too clambers to his feet, Jessica held close to his chest. Marco hisses a little at the sting of soap on the wounds, but Jean probably misses it, depositing Jessica back in her cage. He’s still standing there several moments later, just watching her reacclimate to her proper surroundings, before Marco dares to interrupt again. 

“Um,” he bites his lip a little before continuing, “Do you have any bandaids?”

Jean seems to snap out of his trance at that. He comes back to the bathroom, opening the mirror medicine cabinet and pulling out a bottle of alcohol and a box of bandages. 

“Let me see,” he says, reaching for Marco’s hand. “Shit, she got you good, didn’t she?” His voice is almost proud, and Marco considers kicking him in the ankle, just a little. He opens the alcohol, holds Marco’s hand over the sink, and pours it on. 

“Ah, fuck!” Marco scrunches up his nose and closes his eyes at the burn. It doesn’t last long, though, and then Jean is patting his fingers dry with a tissue and carefully opening the bandaids and putting them on. 

They’re Batman bandaids. Marco smiles weakly. 

“Nice choice.”

“It’s the bandaids Jessica’s hero deserves,” Jean says quietly.

“But not the one you need?”

Jean’s eyes lift to his, and Marco is struck with another bolt of pain, this one directly in his chest. There’s so much there, so much in those golden irises and the perfect blackness of his pupils…

“Obviously I needed you.” Jean lets go of his hand. “I’ve always said you were always right, and you were. You knew where to look. You found her.”

“Jean,” Marco doesn’t resist grabbing him again, surprised that Jean doesn’t yank away. “It’s not… I’m not…” He struggles for something that won’t sound completely lame… “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that,” Jean huffs. 

“But do you believe me?”

Every second in the pause before Jean’s response is like a lifetime. His stomach hurts. 

“..........I don’t want to. I never wanted to.” His eyebrows lower. “But I ended up doing it anyway.”

Marco chokes on a sigh, and closes his eyes. There’s a hundred things he wants to say right now. Even if he could pick one he’d never know if it was exactly what he meant or wanted. So instead he cups his hands around Jean’s face and leans forward just enough for their foreheads to touch. He closes his eyes. And then he stands there, waiting for what happens next.

“Marco,” Jean starts… and then his stomach growls loudly. “...shit.”

Marco pulls back, blinking. 

“Are you okay?”

“I uh...haven’t really eaten since yesterday,” Jean tugs on the hem of his hoodie guiltily, “I was too fucked up over Jessica, I could barely sleep last night and I wasn’t hungry all day…” He shrugs. “I guess now that I know she’s all right…”

_Tread carefully, Marco,_ he thinks. 

“....do you want to get something to eat?”

“I guess I should.”

If part of the way back to Jean’s heart is through his stomach, Marco knows exactly where to go.

-

It’s about twenty minutes -Jean refuses to leave before tying the gerbil cage shut in four different places and putting a heavy book on each corner just to be safe- and one large fries later before either of them really talks again. Marco is wondering how many life changing events are going to take place in fast food parking lots before he really does grow up, and Jean is halfway through his second box when he says: “Do you really love me?”

Marco can’t help but choke out a gross laugh at that. 

“All the things you could've said right now…” he shakes his head. “You got me with that one, that’s for sure.”

“Hmph,” Jean grabs his soda, sipping it and chewing fiercely on the straw before responding, “I couldn’t figure out what I’d lead off with when I talked to you again, so I decided I’d go with whatever came out.”

“Technically, you started with ‘Marco, I need your help.’”

“Asshole,” Jean rolls his eyes, “I meant leading off this conversation. You know, the one we’ve been avoiding having for days.”

“Honestly, I didn’t think of it as ‘avoiding.’”

“No?”

“I thought you were never going to talk to me again.” Marco smiles weakly. “And for a little while, I was almost okay with it.”

Jean snorts.

“Same here.”

It’s quiet for a few moments.

“I was...angry at you,” Marco says, looking out the front window at the sky. He can’t tell if there are any stars - the glare from the street lights is masking them. “Maybe I didn’t have a right to be, but I was anyway. I was angry that-”

“I know why,” Jean cuts in, “I’m not a total idiot, I know what I said.” He pauses to suck on a salt-covered finger. “I know I meant it, at the time. I know we both meant what we said.”

“Doesn’t mean we should have said it, though,” Marco sighs, “Or that there wasn’t a better time or place to talk about...those kinds of things.”

“You mean my being a self-fulfilling prophecy incapable of letting you save me from myself?”

Marco chuckles darkly.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“By the same token, though, I didn’t need to unload all my drama on you while you were being a shitty drunk.” He winds the wrapper of his straw around his fingers one way, and then the other, “I shouldn’t’ve gone to the party at all. I was looking for a fight and you were the easiest target.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m crazy about you.” Jean shrugs with one shoulder, raising the straw to his lips again, like he hasn't just said something truly astounding and important.

Marco sputters cleverly. 

“Buh?!”

“I knew you liked me. I just didn’t really want like you back, and then it sort of...happened before I realized it. And once I realized how much I liked you..." He shakes his head. "But I didn't just want to jump in headfirst. Whatever you might think, I do actually know the difference between ‘friend’ and ‘fuckbuddy.’”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I shouldn’t have been mean about your friend. What right did I have to be jealous when she knew you ten years before I did?”

“You were jealous?” Marco is embarrassed at how excited he sounds.

“I just said I’m not an idiot, Marco, and I know you aren’t either. Of course I was jealous. I’ve been jealous every time you’ve talked about someone you fucked, even when I didn’t want to be.”

“...to be fair, you asked me about the temp thing.”

“Well how else was I going to figure out what you were aiming for with me?” Jean folds his arms across his chest. “You said you wanted to be friends, but you weren’t beyond fooling around with coworkers. I knew you wanted me, but I wasn’t sure what kind of...actual thing it would be. If we slept together.” He hunches inward a little. “But I could never quite figure it out. I thought maybe when you got drunk that I had the answer. That I was seeing the real you and the real you was…” he swallows, “Just a big flirt who wanted to paw at me and talk big to his friends about fucking me. Someone who had played me all along.”

Indignation flares up in Marco again, but he forces it down.

“I wish…” he stares at the steering wheel, “That you didn’t think so little of me. I wish I hadn’t...done any of those things, or at least...told you beforehand that I get super touchy when I’m drunk and have...pretty much no boundaries whatsoever.”

“It’s not that I think so little of you, it’s just…” Jean closes his eyes and leans against the window, the bobble on top of his hat smooshed against the pane. “Talking to Jac the night before… When she seemed so fucking stunned that anyone could want me and said as much, it...screwed everything up. Suddenly everything we’d said or done had a different meaning, I was looking at everything in the light she cast on it, and it was a fucking shitty light.”

“I don’t understand why she would even say that to you.”

“You don’t understand because you and Ymir are like…” Jean sighs, his breath clouding against the glass. “You and Ymir, and Eren and Armin and Mikasa are like something I’ve never had. You’re family but you’re friends, and vice versa. I have a family, sort of. I have my mom, who loves me. I don’t know my dad. I have Len, who accepts me as a son, and I have Jac who is pretty much everything I’m not. She’s the one who stepped up and turned out to be fantastic when I was becoming a cruddy teenager with acne. She was always better at making friends, at getting people to pay attention to her. And instead of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,’ I thought I not only had to beat her but also keep her as far away from me as possible.” A finger stretches up, tracing patterns in the condensation of his exhalations. “I was an ass to her. And then one day she got tired of it and started to be an ass back. And we never got over that, we never got close enough to see anything good in each other, just be able to pick out what was the most bad. We don't know how to talk to each other without being mean and you'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it gets me every time.”

Marco thinks of Ymir.

He thinks of her standing on the balcony and telling him how much she hated him, how much she tried to push him away but how much he wouldn’t let her. How he pushed back in a way that brought them closer instead of driving them apart. How they turned what could have been animosity or even apathy into the most solid, caring relationship he’s ever had with anyone. 

He thinks of Eren and Armin and Mikasa, who found each other and carried one another through hardships, who picked one another up even after knocking one another down. 

He thinks of the store, of Connie and Sasha, Bert and Reiner and Annie, Hanji and Levi and Erwin. 

And he looks at Jean. Jean, who has never had these things, by accident or his own poor design. Jean, who deserves them anyway. 

“I wish,” he says, surprising himself, “That I’d known you were you were younger.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jean snorts, “You think I suck now, you should have seen me then.” 

“I don’t care that you suck now. I suck too. We can suck together.”

“Wow, that’s going to be the feel-good motto of the year.”

“Jean,” Marco can’t help pouting a little, “I’m being serious here.”

“So am I.” Jean finally turns back to him. “You think I haven’t been going over and over what happened the other night? Do you think it would have happened at all if I’d just said to you that morning, ‘hey, Marco, my sister said some fucked up shit to me, can I talk to you about it?’ I’m pretty sure if I’d actually let you in, instead of deciding you were some kind of sexual predator who wanted my skinny ass and nothing else, that things would have turned out differently.”

“Even so, I should have...tried to be more understanding. I should have been more patient.” Marco hears Christa reminding off all the times he threw up, “I should have been more sober.”

“Well you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t. It doesn't make it right, but it's what it was. And I was fucking pissed at you.” Marco shifts around so he can look at Jean fully, “Because all I can see is this fascinating person who doesn’t try to be anything he isn’t… except happy. You have so much potential and you’re so afraid of it. And I want to help you, but it’s frustrating that I can’t. That I can’t read you. That I’m always walking on eggshells around you when what I really want to do is….is…..”

“...is?”

“I don’t know, kiss you and laugh with you and buy you fries and...and...fuck you until you can’t come anymore.”

Jean blushes hard at that. So does Marco, for that matter, who decides it would be an excellent time to steal some of Jean’s fries and shove them all into his mouth. They’ve gone cold and limp by now, but he chews determinedly as he waits for a response. 

“......................wow, one of those things was not like the others.”

“My mind just goes there when I think about you,” Marco swallows hard, then rubs his forehead in irritation. “It always has. I’m not going to pretend for a minute that I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about getting you in bed, but the thing is that I really started wanting that once I realized how hard I was falling for you.” He pushes his fingers through his hair distractedly. “Obviously you noticed I can hardly take my eyes off you. I want to just...drive around with you, like we did that first night. I want to lie under a tree with you and stare up at the leaves and watch them blow away one by one. I want to wake up with you and go to sleep with you and make you listen to Johnny Cash until you beg me to make it stop. I want so many things with you, and sex is only a part of it. It’s a big part, yeah, but…” 

When he looks up, he can see Jean’s eyes sparkling; how many times can one person shatter you, he wonders. Jean has to have broken his heart into a million pieces by now, maybe as many times he’s broken his own. 

“I fuck up so bad,” Jean’s voice trembles, “All the time. And I’m too scared to fix it. You were always right about that too.”

“You know now that I fuck up too. Just as bad.”

“But how do you love someone who says and does such stupid, terrible things?” Jean drags his sleeve across his eyes. “How do you love someone who’s as much of an idiot as they were ten years ago, someone who’s supposed to have their shit together but can’t even keep their stupid gerbils safe?”

“Because I just do!” Marco feels his own voice break. “Because I say stupid, terrible things, and people still love me! I sing awful songs and screw up the people I want to be with the most and somehow I still get another chance! Because the past few days all I’ve done is think about how I thought I’ve known who I was and what I was doing and it turned out I don’t know a goddamn thing because if I did, I wouldn’t have lost you!”

“I’m right here!”

“And I’m right here, Jean!” Marco’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jean’s and gripping it so hard he hears the knuckles crack. “I’m right here and I love you and I don’t care that you suck, or that you think you’re terrible. I love you because you suck. I love you because I know you’re not terrible and all I want to do is make you see that. You could be so good.”

“....I don’t know if I can...”

“You can!” He yanks on Jean's hand. “And you will. Because when you’re not too busy trying to act like a jerk to yourself and to everyone around you, you’re a good person, Jean, and you can be a great person. You have so much to offer!”

“Like what?!”

“Like yourself! I’ve seen what you can do in the moments when you forget to be mad at yourself, you’re funny and sharp and sexy and you love your gerbils so much it hurts! You are the opposite of terrible and I’ll show you even if it means fighting with you outside of every karaoke bar in the world!” 

It’s cliche. It’s a movie moment. But Marco can’t stand it any longer, and he surges across the center console and kisses Jean. His lips are salty-sweet, and his mouth is warm as it opens under his assault, tongue touching against his shyly at first, then boldly. Marco grabs one of the ties to his hat and holds onto it like a lifeline as they tremble against one another, tears slipping down between their noses. They shudder apart to gasp, and Marco presses their foreheads together again, not willing to let go of this closeness he’s missed so much.

“Yes I love you. I really love you. In spite of you and me and everything we both suck at, I love you. But I wish you loved you like I do.”

“I’m scared, Marco,” Jean whispers, “I’m scared I’m going to ruin everything. I have every time so far.”

“You haven’t ruined anything. You haven’t done anything so bad it can’t be fixed.” Marco kisses a tear just below Jean’s eye. “You’ve even done a lot of things better than I could. I thought I’d have to come running after you to get us to talk again, but you came to me.”

“...I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Fine,” Jean sighs raggedly, “I didn’t have anyone else I wanted to call. I needed to talk to you. I needed to see if...if I could learn to trust you again.”

“You don’t have to trust me now. Just...say that you will, eventually. Or that you wish you could and maybe it’ll come true. I’ll do my best to earn it back.”

“Okay,” Jean sounds tired now. Marco doesn’t blame him. “...Fuck, all of this would have been easier if one of us was absolutely right or wrong.”

“I know, right.”

“I guess that’s part of growing up, though. Realizing how much you still have to learn about how shit works.”

“Mm,” Marco agrees, kissing him again, much less forcefully, much more sweetly. Jean responds and even reaches up to trail his fingers along Marco’s neck. He pulls away after a moment, looking at the other man. “You know I listened to that song you mentioned. The one by Juliana Theory.”

“Yeah?” Jean’s voice is a little raw, a little sore. Marco loves it even more. “What did you think?”

“I think that I wasn’t gonna tell you I could change things, I’m afraid I never will know how.” 

To his surprise, Jean laughs hoarsely at that. 

“...that was terrible. I mean, it’s a great line, but that...that was fucking cheesy, Marco.”

“More cheesy than you basically telling me ‘you always say goodnight’ like a teaser and not telling me that was the name of the song?”

“I was being subtle.”

“You were being obnoxious. Like you always are.”

“You love me, though.” The word “love” wavers only slightly. “What does that make you?”

“Pretty terrible,” Marco says, then pokes Jean in the chest. “Oh look. Now we’re both terrible.”

“Fuck you,” Jean laughs wetly, kissing him again. 

“I love you,” Marco breathes when it breaks. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what happened? Or for loving me?”

“For all of it. For not realizing that I’ve got a lot of growing up to do until it was almost too late. For what happened at the party. For what’s going to happen when you figure out that I’m never going to let you give up on yourself. What’s going to happen when you realize I’m never going to let you go again.”

“Okay,” Jean says softly, his lips grazing Marco’s, the breath between them knotting together. “Then I’m sorry too. For all the same things.”

It may not be “I love you;” Marco is pretty sure it’s a thousand times better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme song for this chapter is actually the theme song for the entire fic: ["The Nerve," by the Republic Tigers.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtPdUnR20WE) It's another song I recomment listening to on loop; I certainly have been. 
> 
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> ....can I come out of the box now? :D


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality never quite follows expecations. It likes to take it's own path, for better or worse or sometimes both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it back! I hope most of you were able to see my tumblr message last week, and I still sincerely apologize for the delay. Turns out cons are crazy, did you that? Apparently I'd forgotten. I got to meet some of you amazing people though, and that was just incredible and really powerful for me. Thank you guys so much for coming to my table and being so wonderful - I hope you understand how much it meant to me.
> 
> I also beg your forgiveness for both my continued comment-reponse tardiness here and on tumblr (I will not let them go unanswered, I swear to you!) and for how late in the day this is landing - I got to have an endoscopic adventure today, and while it went super well, I was pretty well drugged for a long time there. 
> 
> And if you're observant, you may have noticed that there's now an end chapter in sight. We'll take more about that later. 
> 
> For now, please direct all your love and positive energies to [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com) who has been on the move all summer and can finally settle down at home with cats and hotcops; Heichousquad [Fini](http:) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), who are now both back where they should be; and [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks)/[Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com), the most generous and benevolent and talented Queen either side of the wall has ever seen.

It’s still dark when movement against Marco’s chest wakes him.

“Nnnh,” he mumbles, and a hand comes up to brush at his bangs.

“Shh, go back to sleep, sorry.”

“What time is it?” He murmurs muzzily, trying to turn and finding himself hindered by the body that’s pressed itself warmly against his side. It shifts a little to allow him movement, and he finds himself squinting to define the sharp features of Jean’s face.

“It’s about five or something. I didn’t mean to wake you, I just got up to check on Jessica.”

“She still there?” Marco rubs one eye with the back of his hand.

“She’s still there.”

“Good.”

“It is good, isn’t it.”

Marco feels his eyes drift close again, just as Jean snuggles close to him, tucking his head under his chin. It’s such a warm, sweet action that he can’t help but smile, and he shifts around to wind his arms better around the other man. They fell asleep in their clothes, and while he’s almost too warm now, wearing jeans under the covers, he can’t imagine ever wanting to move from this position again.

“Did you sleep?” he asks a few long moments later when he can feel a kind of awake-like tension in Jean’s body.

“Yeah, a bit,” Jean’s voice is husky. “I got up once before to check on her.”

Marco frowns.

“You’re gonna crash at work if you don’t start getting some rest.”

“I can make it through today.” Jean yawns. “I know Jessica is safe and I have tomorrow off.” He clears his throat softly. “And you’re here. So. It’s okay.”

Marco’s heart flutters a little, and he tilts his head enough that he can kiss the top of Jean’s head.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“.......I’m glad,” Jean sighs and rests a hand on Marco’s sweatshirt over his stomach. “What time do you work?”

“Uhh…” Marco scrunches his eyes closed and tries to think. “Ten. You?”

“Nine.”

“You should try to sleep some more,” he raises his hand to rub soft circles on Jean’s back.

“I know.”

“I’m not gonna go anywhere, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good. Because I’m very comfortable.” Marco lets his hand still against Jean’s back, feeling Jean slide a leg between his and pull himself closer. He’s starting to drift off again when he notices Jean is still restless, his hips rubbing a little at Marco’s thigh, and…

“....Jean?”

“Sorry,” he hisses, “I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m trying to...just...go back to sleep, okay?”

The chance of that happening is decreasingly rapidly as Marco starts to process the hard line of Jean’s erection against him.

“Um,” he says helpfully, “Have you been...having this problem for a while?”

“It’s just morning wood,” Jean responds grumpily. “Ignore it. Go back to sleep.”

“If it was just that, wouldn’t it have stopped when you got up to check on Jessica? Unless worrying over gerbils gets you going-ow!”

Jean pinches him a second time for good measure and pulls away to sit up. It’s starting to get the slightest bit lighter in the room, and Marco can see him rubbing his hair sheepishly.

“Okay so maybe you looked really cute while you were sleeping, shut up.”

Marco watches him fidget, feeling a flood of easy, loving warmth flow through his chest...and lower. And yet he can't help himself.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a somnophiliac?”

“Oh my god, Marco,” Jean turns and scowls at him, smacking him on the thigh, “You are the worst.”

“I know.” Marco stretches languidly, not failing to notice the way Jean’s eyes flick up and down his body. He wonders if the other man is thinking about the piercings two layers of clothes down; he can feel the nipple harden as he remembers Jean’s insistent tongue a week past. “We covered that last night, didn’t we?”

“Even so,” Jean’s hand comes up to his mouth; he bites at his thumbnail almost shyly. “It feels kind of lame. We got everything out and we’re okay now...and…” he inhales sharply, “You love me and that’s awesome, but we should be taking it slow, right?”

Marco blinks, torn between wanting to take Jean in his arms and rock him gently and wanting to take Jean in his arms and kiss him so hard he can’t breathe. Which is the right choice? Could they both be? He pushes himself up so he’s next to Jean, bumping their arms together and then leaning down to push his forehead into Jean’s shoulder.

“We can take it however you want. I promise to do better this time.” He moves his head so he can see Jean’s face, his chin now resting where his forehead had been. “What do you want to do?”

“Slow be damned, I want to fuck,” Jean says.

It’s hardly the world’s most articulate come on, but the words split inside him: half go to his heart, and the other half straight to Marco’s crotch. He’s awake all over now, and he pulls back so Jean can turn to look at him, eyes dark with lust.

“Yeah?” Marco is pleased his voice doesn’t crack.

“Yeah,” Jean hedges a little, reaching up to fiddle with one of his hoodie strings. “Is that okay?”

“It’s great,” Marco says, reaching for him, “I want to fuck too.”

“Cool,” Jean says, his hands going up to Marco’s chest, fingers probing for the piercing and, finding it, rubbing it through the fabric of his shirt. Marco hisses. “Um...how do you want to…?”

Marco wants to in all kinds of ways. He wants his head between Jean’s thighs and he wants Jean’s knees over his shoulders. He wants Jean drooling on all fours and he wants to fuck that sassy mouth like there’s no tomorrow. Ideally, he wants to spend the rest of the day exploring every single inch of Jean’s body with his hands and tongue, taking Jean apart and putting him back together with pieces of himself fit in for good measure.

There’s a brief sound of scuffle and a squeak from the gerbil cage, though, and it brings things back into a more realistic focus. The sun is going to come up soon, and they’ll have to get ready for work. Time is of the essence right now.

He’s taking so long that Jean is starting to look nervous.

“...Should I get a condom?” he asks, pulling away to reach for the nightstand drawer.

“No,” Marco grabs his wrist, and Jean’s face registers a flash of disappointment. He smiles softly, leaning forward to peck Jean’s lips sweetly. “Not until we have more time. I don’t want to rush.”

“Oh,” Jean sounds a little let down, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Marco bites his lip for a moment, then lets go of Jean.

“But if you have any lube...maybe get that. Just in case.”

“Yeah?” Jean raises an eyebrow. “You have something going on in that filthy mind of yours?”

“Concerning you? Almost always,” Marco grins.

Jean opens the drawer, rummages around for a moment, then pulls out a bottle of lube and hands it to Marco.

“Are you going to tell me what it is, or is it a surprise? Should I lie back and think of England?”

Marco sets the lube down on the bed, then unzips Jean’s hoodie, pushing it off his shoulders before pulling up the t-shirt underneath and nodding at Jean. Jean takes the cue and holds it up, exposing his chest as Marco reaches down to thumb open his jeans, the zipper sliding down over Jean’s straining cock almost entirely on it’s own. Marco breathes out slowly, then smiles up at Jean.

“How about you don’t think about anything but me?”

“As if I don’t already,” Jean mutters as he leans back against the pillows, “Vain asshole.”

“You’re one to talk,” Marco breathes, settling between Jean’s legs and tugging his boxers down. “If you only knew what goes on in my head when you’re around.”

“Why don’t you show me?” Jean challenges, looking as inviting as a cold blue ocean on a scalding day, “Or are you all talk?”

Marco takes a deep breath and dives in.

-

It’s hard to leave.

It’s silly -they’re going to see each other in two hours at most, and spend the day in the same store- but they linger at the door exchanging slow kisses as though it’ll be a good few years before they can even speak to each other again. Jean finally pushes him away with the reminder that he urgently needs a shower and for the first time in years, Marco is tempted to join him, dual shower complications be damned. He restrains himself, though, because it would end up being more than just a shower, and they are responsible adults, or at least sort of responsible semi adult-like people. They have jobs to do. Jobs that aren’t seeing how many times Marco can coax more porn-worthy moans out of Jean before letting him come.

 _That would be an ideal profession,_ he thinks, _but unfortunately not particularly lucrative,_ so he finally pulls away and stumbles lovesick to his car to drive home and clean himself up.

He winces in the shower as he scrubs the loofah across his chest - judging from all the attention they received from his mouth, Jean clearly has some kind of fixation with his piercings- and realizes when he munches on a poptart while fixing his hair that his throat hurts in that characteristic “I just had a whole lot of cock down it” way. It’s been a long time since sucking dick wrecked him like this, and he can’t help grinning.

If he had ever doubted the complete and utter tactlessness of his friends, the ear-splitting wolf whistle when he walks in the door would have confirmed it. Marco actually stops and glares at Connie, the obvious culprit, but it doesn’t last - he can’t hold the face and ends up laughing, stopping at the intake counter to bump fists with him.

“I’d ask if you were qualified to sing right now but I know Jean’s been here longer than half an hour, so…” Connie wavers suddenly. “Wait, we can talk about it, right? You’re not sworn to secrecy this time are you?”

Marco shrugs, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

“I haven’t said anything and I won’t say anything. You’ll have to talk to Jean.”

“Dude, your face says more than enough, and so did his. He actually smiled at Eren when he came in. Smiled. At Eren.”

Marco laughs.

“And?”

“I still haven’t recovered,” Eren sidles up beside him, tugging his headset down. “But since gravity seems to still be in effect and none of the faucets are spewing blood instead of water, I’m starting to think the world may not actually be ending.”

“That’s very charitable of you,” Marco raises an eyebrow and smiles.

“Hey, I had my maturity revelations for this week already, give me a break.” Eren elbows him, but his bright eyes are shining. “I’m glad for you. Seriously.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Marco rubs the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed at how proud he is to hear this from Eren, of all people.

“All relationships are,” Connie shrugs, “Even the ones you thought you already knew everything about.”

“Amen to that,” Eren nods.

“Well far be it from me to question the voices of such profound experience,” Marco says dryly, “I’m gonna go hang up my coat.”

As he reaches the back door, though, it swings open ahead of him, and Jean appears. For once they don’t crash into each other, because Marco stops short: Jean is wearing his cowl neck sweater. It’s just piece of clothing and it shouldn’t mean anything, but it reminds him of sad words and insecurities, an interrupted kiss and the first time Jean let him see his bruised heart. It triggers something in Marco between arousal and relief and pure joy, and he can’t help grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Jean says, and grins back.

“Nice sweater.”

“Thanks,” Jean tilts his head a little, baring a long expanse of neck that makes Marco’s mouth water. “My mommy bought it for me.”

“It looks good on you.”

“It would look better on your floor.”

“Jean!” Marco’s laugh is startled but pleased, “We’re at work!”

“I’m sorry, was I being inappropriate? If I remember correctly, you’re the one whose awful taste in men gets broadcast around the store.”

“They’re going to think it’s extra awful now.”

“And you brought it on yourself, didn’t you.”

“I sure did,” Marco steps closer, reaching his hand out just enough to brush his fingertips along Jean’s stomach, “And I don’t regret it.”

“Both of you are going to regret coming to work shortly if you don’t knock this the fuck off.”

Levi is standing slightly behind Jean, arms folded across his chest, entirely and eternally unamused. By contrast, Hanji, leaning sloppily against Levi with her elbow nearly in his ear, looks quite enamored of the situation.

“Come on, Levi, don’t be mean,” she nudges him with her hip and he moves away enough that she loses her balance and has to grab onto him to stay upright. She continues without a hitch, though. “Our little owl has finally gotten his wings!”

“By virtue of being an owl, he would have had his fucking wings from the start.”

“Unless he was a hideously deformed owl.”

“What are we even talking about!”

“You know what I mean, though, he’s left the nest of solitude and joined the pack!”

“How is it that you’re the scientific one and yet you suddenly seem to have no comprehension of how animals work!”

“That’s not even the point! You’re missing the forest for the trees!”

“They’re some bigass trees you’ve got going on here, dipshit!”

Marco and Jean exchange looks of frightened confusion, then Jean scoffs and continues out the door and Marco makes his way to the break room to hang up his things. Hanji and Levi are still arguing about the proper metaphorical terminology of Jean’s attitude change when he walks by a few moments later.

The world, he thinks, is finally as it should be.

-

“So,” Jean says.

It’s his last hour, and Marco’s penultimate one - invariably the longest two hours of any given shift, not made any easier by the fact that the two of them are at intake together, and the sales have slowed down considerably. They’re both at the pricing computers, three feet between them. It might as well be three hundred miles. It might as well be three inches. In Marco’s mind, the fact that they’re not actively touching is torturous in and of itself, and from the way Jean fidgets and keeps fiddling with his collar and glancing at Marco, it’s clear the feeling is more than mutual.

“Hmm?” Marco pretends to be very interested in the copy of “Team of Rivals” he’s holding. Normally it’s a very strong seller that he’s glad to see, but right now it could be a bag of dead snakes for all he knows.

“I was looking at the schedule.”

“Mmhmm…”

“And I saw you’re off tomorrow too.”

“Oh yeah?” Marco glances at him. “I guess I hadn’t looked at it. Hanji must’ve made the schedule before we closed earlier in the week so she couldn’t account for playing catch-up.”

“Even so,” Jean picks at the old price tag on the front corner of a Vonnegut novel, “If they needed us here they would have told us. So regardless of how things have ended up, you and I both have a whole day where neither of us is at work.”

“Interesting,” Marco slaps a price sticker on the book; it could say anything from 99 cents to 99 dollars, he can’t even pretend to care. “Do you have plans?”

“I dunno yet. It kind of depends on what I do tonight.”

“Yeah? What are you doing tonight?”

“Well,” he gives up on the sticker and moves closer to Marco, voice dropping a little, “I was kind of hoping I’d get invited over to this guy’s house and maybe...stay overnight.”

“So you’re going to slumber party, then.”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds fun, let me know how it goes?”

Jean scowls and smacks him; Marco giggles.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know, I know,” he leans forward and quickly kisses Jean’s nose; Jean makes a face. “But you wanna come over?”

“Yeah,” Jean seems a little shy now, hands going deep into his pockets, “If that’s okay. We haven’t...I mean...mostly we’ve been at my house. Seems like it would only be fair to even the score, right?”

“You’re okay with leaving Jessica to her own devices?”

“After that misadventure, I don’t think she’s going anywhere. At least not for a while.” Jean sighs, looking down at his shoes. “I’m honestly thinking she might have done it because she was tired of listening to me bitch and moan and cry.”

There it is again, the allusion to how Jean had spent his week. Marco’s heart clenches.

“Jean, I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” he shrugs. “It’s not even...it’s over now, anyway. Yeah, I’m a little nervous about leaving her, but Theresa's there to try and keep her in line and I’d…” he clears his throat, “I’d really like to stay at your place tonight. If that’s okay.”

“Huh. Let me think about it…” He taps his finger against his chin for a few moments, then sighs dramatically. “Well, I guess it would be okay. Probably.”

“Oh fuck you,” Jean’s eyes narrow. “Never mind, I’ll have a nice night in with my ladies, then.”

“Come on, Jean,” Marco hooks a finger through the other man’s belt loop - it’s below the counter, so no one can see, although Jean straightens immediately. “That’s like asking me if I want to have cake and a new car. Did you honestly think I would say no?”

“Well I wasn’t just gonna show up if you had plans with Ymir or something.”

“Actually, I haven’t talked to her in a few days,” Marco frowns a little; that is odd. He’ll call her tomorrow and make sure everything went okay with her second birthday attempt. “But no. My evening’s totally free and I would love it if you came over.”

“Cool,” Jean hasn’t pulled away. In fact, he’s resting his hand on Marco’s wrist so easily, so calmly, it’s like it belongs there. It probably does. “I get off before you so I’ll go home and feed the girls.”

“Sounds good. Did you want to get dinner?”

“Yeah, but -and I know this is going to sound weird- but could we possibly, I dunno...not eat pizza for once?”

“Sure, if you want, but I don’t have a lot at my house. Mostly things that can be cooked in five minutes or less on high.”

“That’s lame,” Jean says, “Do you have bread, at least?”

“Uh...maybe?”

“Do you have cheese?”

“...likely no.”

“Marco,” Jean grits his teeth, “Do you own a fucking can opener?”

“I think I had one when I moved in?”

“Christ,” Jean scowls. “Okay, I’m gonna pick up some shit, and assuming you have a stove-” he holds up his hand before Marco can facetiously protest that he’s not sure he actually has a kitchen, “I’m gonna make you a traditional Kirchstein family dinner.”

“It sounds suspiciously like you’re going to make me a grilled cheese sandwich. Possibly also soup.”

“Listen just...fuck off, okay? God, Marco, you are the worst.”

“Takes one to know one!” he says brightly, then turns a little to see Connie and Sasha gawking at them from the other side of the counter.

“Wow,” Sasha says, her voice hushed with awe, “It’s like looking into a living snow mirror.”

“What would that even mean?” Jean steps away from Marco, ducking into his sweater a little as if that might hide his blush. When they’re still there after a moment, Jean makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, get!”

Instead, Sasha focuses on Marco, and, grinning, stretches out her index fingers and poking them together. He recognizes the action from the previous week, and she’s just starting to mouth “touching boners?” again when Jean grabs a Patricia Cornwell paperback off a nearby shelf and tosses it at them. Connie valiantly knocks it out of the air, but a second book quickly follows and hits him in the face.

“Oh no you did not,” he says, rubbing his cheek. “You don’t even want to know what you’ve started here, Kirchsnicklesnackle.”

Jean looks decidedly arrogant.

“Try me.”

Marco is saved from stepping in by Levi just happening to walk by the counter, eying them all like a disapproving lord. Connie and Sasha scuttle away, and Jean grins at Marco.

“Sometimes working in a bookstore isn’t half bad.”

Marco shakes his head, but can’t help smiling.

-

Their legs are twined together curled together as they eat on Marco’s couch, “Robocop” playing quietly on the TV, and Jean is, apparently, a grilled cheese virtuoso.

“This is delicious. You mentioned that your sister was good at it,” Marco dips his sandwich in his cup of tomato soup, quickly leaning forward to lick the stray drops that spill down the side of his hand. “You never said you were.”

“It’s genetic,” Jean says around a mouthful, “Trait passed down through my mom, all three of us can do it.”

“It’s strange to hear you mention her so...not hatefully.”

“It’s the one thing I know for sure we’ll always have in common.” Jean shrugs. “Ever since I was a little kid, it was sort of...my special dinner with my mom. And I was worried when Jac was born that all that would stop, and I’d never get to have dinners like that again. But for all that we don’t get along, when we had family dinners with grilled cheese and tomato soup, both of us understood that it was something special, so we were on our best behavior.” He looks at Marco and scowls. “What?”

“...that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say about her.” Marco feels a blush creep across his nose. “It’s sweet.”

“Ugh, don’t even.”

“It is, though. Regardless of what you say or think, she is your sister. And it’s a nice image to think of you as a happy little kid.”

“I was a chunky little kid,” Jean snorts, “And a crybaby. Only one of those things has changed.”

“That’s okay, though.”

“If it helps to ruin this fantasy image of yours, as soon as dinner was over, we’d start arguing again about who had to help with the dishes. When we got older, it was supposed to be that the person who didn’t cook was the one who cleaned up.”

“Did it work?”

“Most of the time.”

“...is that a hint?”

Jean just grins at him, and Marco sighs, gathering up their dishes.

“Thank you Marco!” Jean calls after him.

When he returns from kitchen duty, though, the mood has changed a little. Marco rejoins Jean on the couch, they cuddle together again, but he can sense the same restlessness he felt in Jean’s body this morning.

“So...what would you like to do now?” he asks carefully. “We could keep watching the movie…”

“I’ve seen it like a dozen times.”

“We could watch a different movie…”

“Marco.”

“We could go for a walk…”

“Marco!”

“We could fuck each other silly…” Jean tenses against him, and he smiles shrewdly. “Oh, is that what you want to do?”

“Maybe,” Jean responds airily, although the carelessness is clearly forced. “It crossed my mind.”

“Well,” Marco picks up the remote and clicks the TV off. No interruptions this time. “Since you’re so big on leveling scores, I owe you for what you did to my nipples this morning. We could do that, or…anything, really.” He laughs at himself - his own ability to play this cool is fading rapidly in the face of this growing want. “We have all the time in the world.”

“Do um,” Jean can’t meet his eyes, “Do you want to do some butt stuff?”

He gigglesnorts at that; Jean smacks him.

“‘Butt stuff?’ Like you did with Hitch?”

“Yeah, but no.”

“Honestly, I don’t even know what you mean when you say ‘butt stuff,’ did you have anal sex, did you do it to her or did she do it to you…?”

“...well I did it to her, and she kind of…” Jean raises his index and pointer fingers and wiggles them at Marco’s face, “To me.”

“She fingered you. You could just say that, you know.”

“Fine, you dick, she fingered me! Happy now?”

“Yes,” Marco nuzzles his hair a little, “Because I think that’s sexy.”

“Oh.” Jean presses in a little tighter. “Good.”

“Did you like it?” Marco can feel his heart pounding, each throb echoing through his body and landing down low.

“It was okay,” Jean shrugs against him, “I don’t know that she was really into it.”

“Did you ever do it to yourself?”

“Jesus, Marco,” Jean turns to laughs breathily against his throat, “I didn’t know we were going to play ‘sex twenty questions.”

“I just...I want to know, because…” Marco swallows. “You said you want to fuck. And I want to know what you’re up for, and what you’ve done… so I can do it right.”

Jean pulls back to look at him.

“I’m up for anything.”

“But what do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

“Say it,” Marco hears the pleading tone in his voice, but he can’t begin to feel bad about it. He’s been waiting for this for so long. “Please, Jean.”

“I want you,” Jean says “I want you so much it hurts.”

“Jean…” It’s a whimper now.

“And I want you to fuck me with your stupidly huge dick.” Marco hiccoughs at that, jerking away to see Jean’s large, sassy grin. “That’s what you wanted me to say, right?”

Marco can’t help laughing.

“It’s close enough, and probably what I should have expected from you.”

“I’ll always keep you guessing.” Jean unwinds himself from the couch and stands up, holding his hand out to Marco.

“I hope so,” Marco smiles, and takes his hand.

-

Jean leaks.

There’s no other word for it.

Marco has never been with anyone who flat out dripped as much precome as Jean, and he wonders if he should find it as unbelievably sexy as he does. The sounds he makes are just as incredible - he’s heard them a few times now, but every little hiss, every half-swallowed moan and catch of breath is like a spell being cast. He could spend hours trying to memorize them, trying to catalogue them and what in particular makes Jean elicit a singular noise.

It appears that Jean’s nipples are naturally sensitive without piercings, and Marco spends so much time with them, licking and sucking and biting that Jean eventually has to beg him to stop. When he does, the skin is bright red, Jean panting, his abdomen a slick of precome above the space where they’ve opened his pants and boxers enough to let his cock out.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Jean wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand, “I’d think you were trying to wear me out before we even get started.”

“Hardly,” Marco wipes a line of spit off his chin, “I’m just trying to make you good and relaxed so it won’t hurt.”

“Things have gone in my butt before, Marco, I told you.”

“Yeah, but nothing the size of my stupidly huge cock, as you’ve said.”

Jean grumbles something and reaches for him.

“Come on, then, get it out so I can mentally prepare myself.”

Marco obliges. His shirt has been gone for a while now - they’d started by just making out and that had been the first thing to go, each brush of his chest against Jean’s sending sore sparks of pleasure into his belly. It occurs to him, though, as he stands up to get his pants off completely, that’s he’s never been completely naked with Jean before now. The few things they have done always had some bit of clothing involved. He’s not self-conscious by any stretch of the imagination, but as Jean’s eyes track down his exposed body, heavy-lidded with lust, he feels himself experiencing something close to stage fright.

This is a big deal. This is a huge deal.

“Turn around,” Jean says.

Marco blinks at him, cocking his head to the side.

“Huh?”

“Turn around.”

Slowly, he does, and Jean chuckles lowly. He looks over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Ymir was right.”

“What?!”

“When she said you have butt freckles, but not many on your dick.” Jean’s expression is downright smarmy now, and Marco picks up his shirt from the edge of the bed and throws it at him.

“Oh my god, you were so mad about those texts and now you have the gall to bring them up!”

Jean laughs and tosses the shirt away, holding out his arms to Marco.

“You’re just mad because she told me before you could show me yourself.”

 _How did he read my mind!_ Marco blanches internally, and Jean laughs again at his obviously guilty expression.

“Well I mean, I should really do my own research though. Bring that up here.”

Marco crawls back onto the bed, straddling Jean. The other man’s long fingers close around his hips, pulling him closer.

“I thought you wanted this in your ass, not in your face.”

“You’re the one who said we have all the time in the world.” Jean raises his eyes to them, and they are so deep and so dark and so perfect that Marco can’t help but drown. This might actually be the single sexiest moment in his entire life. “I want to look. And I’ll tell you when I’m done looking.”

“Okay.” Marco breathes, his whole body dissolving into a slow burn. “Anything you want.”

-

He should have known it couldn’t last.

Since the night they “met,” Marco has been aware that moments with Jean have the ability to go from unbearably hot to incredibly ridiculous in fractions of a second. Why should sex be any different?

“I said I was sorry,” he concentrates on getting his fingers thoroughly slicked with lube as Jean uses his shirt to wipe his eyes. The bottle had been on its side in his drawer, and when he’d hastily popped it open, some of the lube had sprayed out from it, hitting Jean in the face.

“What’s that, I can’t hear you, I’m blind,” Jean grumbles.

“That sounds like something Eren would say,” Marco sighs.

“Don’t you dare mention Jaeger in this bed,” Jean finally drops the shirt. “That’s like...the biggest boner killer I can think of.”

Marco leans down and licks up Jean’s shaft, earning himself a shudder from his lover.

“There, now it’s fixed. Okay try to relax.”

He has one finger inside Jean - 'You all right?” “Yeah, it’s weird but...keep going,”- and is about to slide in a second when his phone rings.

 _Ymir’s timing is incredible,_ he thinks darkly as he feels Jean’s body clamp down on him nervously. It’s strange, he realizes, that both of them are holding still, as if pretending not to be there might make the Wagner stop.

“You’re not...gonna answer that are you?” Jean’s voice sounds strained, and Marco moves his finger very slightly, trying to make a soothing motion but instead causing Jean to jerk forward with a slightly unhappy mewl.

“No, relax.” He puts his free hand on Jean’s stomach, rubbing slightly. “It’s just Ymir, I’ll call her back later.”

The phone finally stops its classical onslaught, and they both sigh.

“Okay,” Jean closes his eyes and sighs a bit, his body easing a little. “Yeah.”

The second finger slides in with considerably less resistance. Jean’s back arches a little, and at their currently angle it allows Marco to see what he’s doing a little better. God, Jean’s hole already looks tight and strained but inviting. Marco’s eager to see it what it looks like when it’s full of his cock instead of his fingers, and he’s about to ask if Jean is ready or if he wants to move up to three when the phone starts ringing again.

“Oh my fucking god,” Jean’s eyes snap open again and he glares daggers at the phone. “What is her deal?”

“We haven’t talked since Monday,” Marco mutters, feeling guilty for not answering the phone and violently exasperated for that very fact. He’s busy. He’s so busy. Even if Ymir is on fire, she’ll understand later, once she stops burning. She’ll think it was hilarious while having the nerve to ask why he didn’t just answer the phone while knuckle deep in Jean’s ass. “I really will call her later.” He looks at the phone and says it again, determinedly: “I will call you later, Ymir!”

The Valkyries cease once more, but Jean doesn’t relax this time.

“Why didn’t you turn your phone off?”

“I don’t know, maybe I was distracted by you saying you wanted to have sex!”

“Maybe you should turn it off now!”

“Do you really want me to do that? Because I’d have to get up from the bed.” Marco looks at Jean sharply and punctuates his words with a careful but deliberate thrust of his fingers. Jean jolts forward slightly.

“Okay, no! No I don’t!” he gasps. “Stay right there and do that again!”

Marco pauses for a moment, just waiting for the phone to start up again. When it doesn’t, he pushes his fingers into Jean again, rewarded with another rolls of Jean’s hips and a moan. Encouraged, he does it a few more times, each time feeling Jean open a little more, groan a little harder. His own erection had flagged a little with the interruption, and he reaches between his own legs, stroking himself back to full hardness in long slow sweeps and sighing in pleasure as he feels precome welling at the tip.

“Are you ready, or do you want more?”

“I think I’m ready,” Jean’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “I want it.”

“Okay,” Marco withdraws his hand, grabbing for the condom he’d gotten out when they arrived in the bedroom and tearing it open. Jean spreads his legs a little so he can watch Marco roll it on, and he’s just finished when the phone rings again.

But it’s not Ymir this time. No, this ring tone is one he doesn’t hear often.

“Of all the nights for my dad to call,” he mutters. “Honestly.”

“Are you. Fucking. Kidding me.” Jean spits through gritted teeth. “Is your whole family calling you tonight or something?”

“I think Ymir’s mom is in Thailand right now, so she probably won’t call.”

“Jesuuuuus,” Jean’s irritated moan is, while much less appealing than his needy sex moans, the perfect approximation of Marco’s feelings.

“Next time I’ll be sure to turn the phone off, I’m sorry!”

There’s a moment of silence when it stops, but Jean barely has time to retort before Vivaldi’s “Spring” is filling the room.

“That’s not my phone,” Marco slides his eyes to Jean, who has gone bright red.

“That’s um...my mom,” he says, his voice breaking a little in embarrassment. “I usually call her Friday nights.”

“Oh my god.” Marco sags at the same moment that Jean reaches for him and the shift in bodies brings Jean’s knee right into Marco’s temple. “FUCK!”

“SHIT!” Jean grabs at his shoulders, “I’m so sorry, oh my god, are you okay?!”

“I’m FINE,” Marco growls, pushing away and clumsily dismounting the bed with a hand pressed to the sore spot on his head. He digs through their abandoned clothes until he finds both their phones, tosses them onto the rug in the hallway, and slams the bedroom door.

When he’s back on the bed, he realizes that his hardon is almost completely gone right now, and he drags the condom off in an angry huff, tossing it to the side.

It sticks to the wall.

Well that’s just fucking perfect.

Marco flops down facefirst into the pillows next to Jean. He’s overreacting. He’s well aware that throwing a sex tantrum is not going to do either of them any favors. But he can’t help it. This was supposed to be so good and so hot and so sweet. And now? He doesn’t know what it is.

Jean does, though, apparently.

“This is the dumbest sex I’ve ever had, and we haven’t even done it yet.” His voice is soft, but...amused? Marco raises his head. Instead the angry pout he’s used to seeing twist Jean’s mouth, he sees a soft smile. Jean meets his eyes and it gets a little bigger. “Seriously.”

In spite of himself, in spite of everything, Marco feels laughter bubbling up inside him.

“I know, right,” he snickers. “I thought it was going okay for once. I was going to fuck you so well you wouldn’t even remember your name.”

“Have you met us? We suck at this.”

“We kind of do,” Marco starts to lose himself to helpless giggles, “I’m half expecting the sewer main to break now or something!”

“Shh-sh-hhhh!” Jean stutters through his own mirth, “Don’t fucking jinx it!”

“Next time we’ll go to your house and see how many ways the gerbils can find to cockblock us.”

“It’s a fucking conspiracy!” Jean’s shoulders are shaking, he’s laughing so hard.

“Oh my god,” Marco grins, “That’s exactly what it is! A _FUCKING_ conspiracy!”

“Uuuugggh! No!” Jean grabs the pillow he’s been leaning against and starts to beat Marco mercilessly. “No puns!”

“Ahhh! Pillow fight!” Marco shields his head with his hands. “So this is a sleepover after all! I knew you didn’t come over for sex!”

“Who’d want to have sex with your unexcitingly unfreckled dick?”

“Oh shit,” Marco looks up at Jean, “You did not go there.”

“But I did.”

Marco pushes himself up and grabs a pillow of his own.

“My appropriately lightly freckled dick and I are gonna serve you good.”

“Bring it on, Bodt. Bring it oooon.”

-

The floor isn’t ideal, but at least there’s a pillow under Jean’s head and one under his hips, casualties of the bedding war being put to more appropriate use.

His knees are going to feel it later, they’ll be bruised and wood-burned from holding him up like this, but that future pain is the last thing on Marco’s mind.

Everything is Jean. Everything around him and under him is Jean. Everything he can taste and touch is Jean. Everything he can see and smell and feel: Jean’s face, mouth open partly in pleasure and parly in pain, their sweat and their sex mingling between them, Jean’s body tight and hot around him, letting him in deeper with each push and almost resisting when he tries to pull out.

“Ah,” Jean manages, his knees pressing into Marco’s ribcage, one brushing against the very end of the scar on his side. He’ll wince over that later. Right now he just slides his hand under Jean’s thigh and holds his leg carefully still.

“Jean,” he hears himself breathe, “You okay?”

“Yes,” Jean’s fingers drag up his back and neck and card into his hair, drawing Marco’s mouth to his, murmuring brokenly in between kisses, “Yes, yes, _fuck, yes._ ”

He wants to pull back. He wants to see Jean’s face, watch their bodies move together. He wants to see the marks they leave on each others bodies so he can feel the primitive sense of having claimed and being claimed in return. He wants to watch himself be taken in whole in every way by this man that he loves so fiercely, so terribly, in all the best ways.

But they have time.

“I’m never going to let you go again,” he whispers savagely, and it’s a cliche thing to say right here, right now, but he can’t help it, he can’t stop it, he never could. “You’re mine, Jean, and I love you.”

“Marco,” Jean’s mouth slips across his face, leaving heat and wetness in its wake, “Marco, Marco, Marco, fuck…!”

His orgasm takes him by surprise, but given this whole thing with Jean? It just makes sense.

-

Marco lies on his side, one hand propping up his head as he watches Jean.

“Do I apologize, or…?”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Jean winces, digging the heel of his palm into his thigh, “My leg cramps up when I come too hard.” Marco can’t help laugh-snorting at that, and the indignant expression on Jean’s face only makes him laugh harder. “What? _What?!_ ”

“I’ve never heard of something like that!” Marco has to fold his arms on the floor and bury his face in them to try to gain some semblance of control. He feels so good right now. “That’s ridiculous!”

“Well it happens, okay!” Jean reaches over to smack him. “See if I ever let you make me come hard again!”

“Yeah?” Marco raises his head, wrinkling his nose cheerfully at Jean. “So no more sex? Even though it was so good you’re in pain from it?”

“It was good for a first time,” Jean sniffs, “But I’m sure it could be better.”

Marco’s eyes widen a little.

“You’re gonna have to give me a few minutes here if you want to go again.”

“Oh god, not right now.” Jean eases his leg down and winces. “Let my newly fucked butt recover a little before you ream it again.”

“But you do want to. Do it more, I mean.”

“Yes, Marco,” Jean rolls his eyes. “Sex with you will in fact be a thing I plan to do with a degree of frequency.”

Marco knows that after everything else, that shouldn’t be what makes him blush, but it does anyway.

“...awesome,” he finally offers lamely, and Jean snorts.

“You and your pretty words. Could you though, um...get me a glass of water? I don’t think I can walk right now.”

“So needy,” Marco clicks his tongue as he sits up. He takes off the condom, tying it shut carefully, then takes a few shaky steps towards the door. “I’m gonna throw this out, wash my hands, and then I’ll bring you the water. Anything else you want while I’m up, your highness?”

“Not at the moment, thanks,” Jean pushes himself to a seat position and grimaces. “I’m gonna get back on the bed, though, my ass needs something soft right now.”

“All right,” Marco chuckles, “Be right back.”

He stops by the bathroom to clean up a bit, grabbing an extra washcloth to take to Jean, then goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water for each of them. Returning to the bedroom, he hands over the glass and the cloth, and Jean chugs about half of it before wiping himself down and laying back on the re-pillowed bed with a sigh.

Marco sits on the edge of the bed, sipping his water and watching him. Jean looks exhausted, the days of little sleep finally catching up with him. But he also looks happy. That alone is almost better than everything about their sex put together.

“What?” Jean challenges, cracking an eye open.

“Just looking at you,” he spares the sentimentality for the moment, and goes for the obviously lustful: “You know, all naked and fucked out in my bed.”

“Like you always wanted?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward and rubs his nose in Jean’s hair just above his ears. “But better than I ever imagined.”

“We should talk about the things you imagined,” Jean leans into Marco’s touch. “I think I need to go to sleep for a little, though.”

“That’s fine. I’m gonna call Ymir back, if that’s okay.”

“Mm,” Jean says, already starting down the road to sleep.

“Be back shortly,” Marco says, dropping a kiss on the top of Jean’s head, then going to the hallway to retrieve his phone.

The message light is blinking, that’s no surprise. But there’s a few texts from Ymir too. For a moment his heart seizes - what if something bad actually did happen? What if Ymir truly needed him?

**> >From: Ymir  
asshole i kno u rnt @ work answer ur fuckin phone**

**> >From: Ymir  
if i find out u were doing dumb shit instead of answering me i s2g i will cut u**

**> >From: Ymir  
fine buttmunch whatever i guess ur busy lemme show u what i wanna talk 2 u about call me when you get this unless ur dead which u better be for ignoring me & u kno if ur dead ill fuckin kill u so there**

The last message is just an image, and for a moment, Marco’s not sure he can believe what he’s seeing. It's a left hand, middle finger raised. 

But he knows that scar across those knuckles. He kissed it in comfort less than a week ago. That’s Ymir’s hand.

Ymir’s hand wearing a diamond ring.

Marco drops the phone directly on his foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....ta-daaaaah? :)
> 
> Special shoutout to [AvoidingAvoidance](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) for one of Jean's special sex traits. It made me laugh so hard that I couldn't not put it in this story. 
> 
> And okay, so what's up with there now being a 19 out 21 chapters? Here's the deal, my darlings: this is the main narrative of what I hope to be a much broader universe. As such, though, it must come to an end. So this particular storyline does have a planned finale in the near future, BUT... there is more in the works. Stay tuned here or at my [totally not at all completely boring tumblr](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com) for further insights. 
> 
> And I will see you next week. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's that song that goes "every new beginning comes at some other beginning's end." After all the scary words have ended, after the curtain falls on the sex scene, what comes next? Where will they be, Marco wonders, when the lights come up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um, I happened to glance at the hits today and oh my god, there's over 20,000? What? What? How? What? I just. I can't. I've really run out of words to express my profound gratitude at this point. It goes beyond anything I can say. You guys are amazing, and I am so blessed, even though I am still lagging behind in comments here and on tumblr. Curse my foul work schedule that keeps me from the internet!
> 
> But meanwhile, it's Wednesday. And THE FINISH LINE IS IN SIGHT. Because here's the thing? 21 is gonna be the epilogue and some extra stuff I've been planning. So. 
> 
> Take a deep breath. 
> 
> Are you ready? I'm not sure I'm ready. Hold my hand please. 
> 
> People who are probably ready, though, and who have been strapped in since the beginning of this ride include [ Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), a terrible enabler of terrible things; Heichousquad [Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com/) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls), my dumplings who will return to school soon and leave me scraping at their SNs in vain until they get home; and Your Highness [Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks)/[Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com), who is a gentlewoman and a scholar and a hottie to boot.

_I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this._

Marco paces.

He’s dressed again, albeit in long soccer shorts and a t-shirt that says “Someone in Compton Loves Me” that Ymir herself had found him while dumpster diving several years ago.

Normally sex either calms him or at the very least motivates him to go out and do something awesome. Right now, though, between the sex and Ymir’s picture, he feels like he wants to run around in circles until he falls down. He can’t tell if he’s ecstatic or a little hurt, and he wavers violently in between. How amazing is it that he and Jean did the do? How could Ymir not tell him she was getting engaged? How could he have not picked up the phone?

“Gaaargghgh,” he grumbles to himself, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Marco takes a deep breath and cracks open the door to his bedroom again. It squeaks, and he winces a little, bit Jean doesn’t even move - he’s out like a broken light, cuddled into a ball of sheets. It’s absolutely adorable, and the sight helps him relax just a little.

He hears the Ymir’s set of keys jingling in the hallway outside his apartment, and quickly shuts the bedroom door before she opens the front and peers around it warily. She focuses on him with a raised eyebrow.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s on fire.” She opens the door more fully and stands up straight, folding her arms across her chest. “What’s the problem?”

“Ymir,” he says, voice shaking just a little as he walks over. “You have something you want to tell me?”

“Well I did, but you didn’t answer your damn phone.”

“I was...indisposed.”

“Doing what?” Her eyes narrow. She leans forward, sniffing at his shoulder. He pulls back quickly, but it’s already too late; she’s caught the scent. “Wait a minute...it wasn’t a what...it was a who!”

“Oh my god,” he blushes, “How can you even tell?! What is this sixth sense about my sex life?”

“HOLY SHIT!” She actually bounces a little. “You did it! Did you do it? You did it, right? You fucked him in the ass!”

“I suppose it depends on what ‘him’ we’re-”

“Oh cut the bullshit Marco, you got your lankyass little whiner into bed and you PUT IT IN HIS BUTT!”

Marco groans, but he can’t help feeling his mouth tug up into a little bit of a smile.

“Maybe I did.”

Ymir smacks him in the chest.

“And?! Did he love it? Did you love it? Did it live up to your spankbank fantasties?”

“Look, it was good, but that’s not why I asked you to come over-”

“Shit, is he still here? He’s still here, isn’t he! You’ve totally got a real thing going on right now!”

“He’s asleep!” Marco takes her arm and pulls her into the living room more fully, hoping that none of her excited outbursts have woken Jean up. It’s not likely, but he can’t help thinking Jean would be less than thrilled to find out Ymir nearly threw an impromptu party at the idea of them finally having sex. “So less like...exuberance about me getting laid.”

“You didn’t want to leave him,” she plops down on the couch looking smug. “That’s why you made me come over.”

“That’s part of it, yeah,” Marco sits down next to her, “But you know why I really asked you over.”

“If it’s to formally apologize for not answering the phone, I forgive you. I mean, I wouldn’t care if you were talking to me while you were balls deep, but I get the feeling he would.”

Realizing she’s going to keep avoiding the actual subject, Marco finally sighs and grabs her hand, dragging his thumb across the new stone adorning her ring finger.

“Ymir.”

She quiets immediately, a rare blush darkening her cheeks.

“What.”

“Stop being so evasive. You seemed pretty keen on talking to me about this two hours ago.”

“That was then.”

“So?”

“It’s….complicated.”

“Complicated.” Marco stares at her with a look of such “what the fuck”-ness it would make Levi proud. “How, exactly?”

She shrugs, looking away. Marco rolls his eyes and squeezes her hand a little.

“She gave this to you on Monday, right? On your birthday? That’s why she was so concerned about everything being special.”

“Yeah,” Ymir’s response is soft, almost shy.

“And you didn’t tell me? For four days?” He can’t keep the hurt out of his voice, and he immediately feels bad when she turns on him, looking unexpectedly wounded.

“Do you remember what you were saying to me on Monday? That you were trying to sort some shit out, fix the mess you made, be an adult?” Ymir huffs, the sharp exhale blowing some of her bangs out of her eyes. “You had a lot of shit on your mind. The last thing you needed was for me to add to that.”

Marco struggles to continue to feel indignant at that.

“But you’re...you’re my Ymir.” She turns to face him again, her eyes a bit bright. “You always tell me to call you if I need anything. The same goes for you.”

“It just…” she starts, then sighs, pulling her legs up onto the couch to sit in a pretzel. “It didn’t really make sense, you know? We’re having dinner and Christa all of a sudden gets down on one knee. She looked like a fucking angel, Marco, this beautiful perfect being holding out a ring and it was for me. It was the absolute most perfect moment. And you know what I did?” -Marco can guess, but he lets her finish- “I started sobbing. Just like...hysterically. I fucking cried twice in two days, that was bad enough, but I could barely even breathe, the waitstaff thought maybe I was having an allergic reaction to dinner and Christa had to explain to them that no, she’d just asked me to marry her.”

“....it’s...not the usual reaction people have, no.”

“I fucking know that!” Ymir nudges him sharply with her elbow. “It’s not like I meant for it to happen, but then I couldn’t stop it! I was so happy, Marco. I was so happy and I was so terrified. Because I thought of what you said, about being an adult and thinking you knew what was going on but you didn’t...and suddenly I was like, ‘I’m going to screw this up. I’ve already started screwing it up.’”

“Ymir…” Any annoyance he’d had left at her not telling him is erased by her words. He slides his arm around her shoulders, and she tucks herself into his side. Their tearful reconciliation on Sunday notwithstanding, it’s rare for him to be allowed to hold her like this, like she’s the fragile one who needs grounding.

“She’s the best person I know, Marco. And she’s gotten it into her head that she wants to spend the rest of her life with me.”

“I had a hunch about it when you guys moved in together, but maybe it was just me.”

“She even took it all in stride when I flipped out in a fancy restaurant. She’s so perfect Marco, and I’m… me. I shot myself in the foot on my own goddamn birthday this time. And I didn’t tell you until now because yeah, I wanted you to deal with your own shit by yourself, like you said -and which was really hard for me, okay- but I was also taking a page out of the same book. I was trying to deal with my shit. Why did I suddenly freak out? Why did something that should have made me think I finally reached some sort of...I dunno, milestone, I guess, why did that make me start thinking that everything might not be what I imagined?”

Marco is quiet for several moments, long enough for Ymir to look at him worriedly.

“Well,” he says finally, smiling, “It’s kind of a big deal, you know?”

“Isn’t it, though?” The waver is back in her voice. “When we were kids, who would have ever thought I’d be getting married before you? Or getting married at all?”

“If you recall, I made you a perfectly good proposal back then.”

“Yeah, and if we were redneck hillpeople it would have worked out just great.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think this is going to work out even better.” He reaches up, running his thumb across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, the places where their freckles mirror each other. “If I could have picked anyone for you, I would have picked Christa.” When she opens her mouth to protest, he puts a finger over her lips. “And you’ve been together for years. I’m not saying you know everything about each other just yet, but I think she has a pretty good idea what she’s getting. And she wants it. She likes it so much she put a ring on it.” He pauses. “And if she turns out to have been wrong, there’s always divorce!”

Ymir punches him in the arm, and he laughs in spite of the pain.

“I was gonna ask you to be my fucking maid of honor, but now maybe I’ll ask fucking Reiner or some shit!”

“Reiner would probably enjoy getting to wear a bridesmaid dress, honestly. But does that mean that you’re the bride? Or are you both brides? Who’s wearing the dress?”

“We haven’t even gotten that far, yet, god!” Ymir tucks some hair behind her ears. “I’ve only started to calm down about the whole thing, we haven’t so much as considered a date!”

“Knowing Christa, though, I’m sure she’s been stockpiling bridal magazines.”

“Unnngghhh,” Ymir bonks her head against the top of the couch. “I bet she has been oh my god what have I done.”

“You’ve done something awesome that’s going to make you happy. And you’re going to do great. I know you will.”

“.....yeah?” She says softly.

“Yeah.” He says warmly, and picks up her hand. “This is some ring. I pity the next person to pick a fight with you while you’ve got this rock on.”

“It’s gonna do some fuckin’ damage, tell you what.”

They lapse into silence after that, sitting quietly, Ymir’s head on his shoulder. Eventually, she clears her throat and pulls away.

“Since he’s asleep in your bed, I probably don’t really need to ask about you and the boy.”

Marco shrugs, feeling a little giddy.

“We’ve worked out a few things.”

“Is he your boyfriend yet? Like, officially?”

“Ah, we haven’t talked about it,” Marco frown now, running his finger under his nose. “It’s only been like a day, we didn’t want to rush things.”

“Marco,” Ymir looks at him evenly, “You put your dick in his ass and you think asking him if he wants to make it a thing would be too fast?”

He blushes and reaches down to pick at his shorts.

“I know, but…I dunno.”

“Christ.” Ymir pulls away and stands up, cracking her back in a familiar way. “I guess I’m back to being the mature capable one again. The more things change.”

“Must be a huge relief for you.”

“Pretty much.” She yawns. “All right, though, now we’re all up to date. I’m getting married. You probably would have boyfriend if you get his balls out of your mouth long enough to ask him.”

“That’s about the state of things.”

“Cool. Can I go home now?”

“You don’t want to stay? Jean might wake up and we might have sex again and then you could be certain I’m finally getting laid.”

Ymir makes a face of such profound disgust that Marco bursts out with an ugly laugh, then quickly claps his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

“Did you fucking forget that I went to college with Bert and Reiner? The amount of buttsex I have walked in on is more than some gay porn stars see in their entire lives. I don’t need to watch my little boy getting dirty, just the idea is haunting enough.”

“And yet you always seem so excited. And can, according to Jean, accurately describe my penis.”

“That is incidental knowledge from when we used to take baths together as children, and I will even deny that if anyone else ever brings it up.”

“Whatever. Go home, Ymir.”

“I will, thank you.”

He walks her to the door, and kisses her forehead.

“I’m not gonna pretend that I don't wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for you too, baby.”

“Kiss Christa for me, and tell her I’m proud of her.”

“I can’t promise the kiss won’t get raunchy.”

“I can’t promise I’m not going to throw all my clothes off and rub my naked junk all over Jean the minute you shut the door.”

“Gross, I’m leaving,” she grins as she opens the door, “Enjoy your disgusting boysex.”

“Bye darling!” He waves, before closing the door and sighing.

The frantic energy is gone now, and left in its wake is warmth and a kind of deep-seated exhaustion. Marco goes back to his bedroom, strips out of his clothes, and slides into bed next to Jean. He’s asleep within minutes.

-

Sometime in the night, Marco wakes up to find that Jean has stolen all the covers. In his effort to get them back, he manages to wake the other man, who sleepily protests about being too cold until Marco wraps around him big-spoon style, and then he finally stops talking.

Or, well, he stops saying coherent words other than Marco’s name, because they end up having sex again, slow and lazy and sweet. It’s not the easiest position, and Marco’s wrist starts to ache after holding up Jean’s leg for the duration, but it’s more than worth it. He’s nearly asleep again before he remembers to take off the condom, and although he’s sure he’ll regret it later, he ends up just tossing it into the wastebasket near the bed and going to back to sleep without any more cleanup.

They are indeed both sticky with sweat and come when they wake up again around dawn, but it’s hardly an issue - Jean is sliding on top of him as soon as it’s clear they’re both alert enough for round three, and if there’s one complaint Marco has, it’s that the room isn’t quite light enough for him to see everything - then again, maybe it’s better this way. Because Jean is arching back above him, cock jutting out from his hips, a line of precome between it and Marco’s stomach. If he could see Jean dripping for him, watch himself disappear inside his lover (he can call him that, three times definitely means he can consider Jean a lover), he’s certain he might not last, even after two fairly recent orgasms.

When they finally make it out of bed it’s well past ten, and Jean can hardly walk.

“Shit,” he gasps when he stands up, reaching back to rub his sore ass. “What the fuck did you even do to me?”

“I think you just answered your own question,” Marco lies in bed on his stomach, unable to keep from smiling as Jean limps toward his clothes.

“Ha fucking ha, asshole,” Jean scowls, rooting through them for his phone until Marco points to where he’s put it on a nearby bookshelf. “I’m not going to be able to sit right for a week, and you’re not even sorry, are you?”

“Nope!” Marco responds brightly.

“You’re fucking proud of yourself.”

“I sure am!”

“Jerk,” He slides his thumb across the phone screen. “You cool if I call my mom back now?”

“Of course,” he pushes himself up into a kind of crouch, then oozes out of bed with a yawn. “I’ll take a shower, since, as you’ve probably guessed, there’s nothing very breakfasty in the house aside from poptarts, and I think we need a little more than that after our ‘workout.’”

Jean flushes at that, and yanks on his boxers before pressing the call button for his mother. Marco walks to the bathroom to give him some privacy, pausing at the mirror to admire some of the fresh scratches on his shoulder and what looks like a constellation of hickeys just below his collarbone. He remembers wanting to feel claimed last night, and honestly, he couldn’t ask for a better sign of it. It’s a long way from being anything even close to a ring like Ymir’s wearing now, but it’s a start.

As he starts the shower, though, he feels a strange pang -of loneliness or longing, he’s not sure which, and he ends up turning it right back off, sitting down on the edge of the tub and waiting.

When Jean’s call ends, he comes to the bathroom, tapping on the partly-closed door before pushing it the rest of the way open. He looks puzzled.

“Did you have a good talk with your mom?”

“Yeah, but… I thought you were taking a shower,” Jeans frowns, “Usually that involves getting into the tub, not just being near it and hoping you get clean through osmosis.”

“Yeah, um. About that.”

“You okay?” Jean’s brow furrows in concern, and Marco thinks he could fall for Jean over and over again, every single day, just like that.

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, “I was just wondering, um… do you want to take a shower with me?”

Jean blinks at him, face clouding with suspicion.

“You don’t like sharing showers. Since your incident with Mina or whatever.”

Marco shrugs.

“It’s been a long time since then. I figure it’s worth giving it another shot.”

“I can’t promise I won’t give you a bloody nose somehow.”

“I can’t promise I won’t hog all the hot water.”

Jean scoffs a bit, but he’s still stripping off his boxers (albeit a little bit stiffly) as he says “Do you think we’ll still be speaking to each other after this? Will it destroy our sexlife forever?”

“We should probably find out sooner rather than later, don’t you think?”

“All right, then.” Jean stands in front of him, naked and vulnerable and anxious and gorgeous. “Let’s do it.”

Marco turns the water back on.

-

“I cannot believe that on our day off, we’re at a fucking Starbucks.”

“And yet there you sit,” Marco sips his caramel latte, “With your peppermint tea and coffee cake. Almost as if you enjoy it.”

“I love cinnamon, okay?” Jean takes an unnecessarily large bite out of his breakfast and chews at Marco obnoxiously. “Whag’s iddo yu?”

“Nothing, you savage.” Marco laughs. “How’s that seat treating you?”

Jean swallows loudly and gives Marco a dark look.

“Speaking of savages, I’m sure what you did to my poor butt was criminal.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Marco scoots his chair around the small table to be closer to Jean. “In fact I’m pretty sure you were telling me to keep going.”

“Yeah, well,” Jean tugs his hat a little lower as if that might hide his red cheeks. “You didn’t warn me I’d be woefully incapacitated for the rest of the day.”

“Maybe that’s how I wanted it,” Marco lifts up one of the earflaps to puts his lips close to Jean’s skin. “Maybe I was hoping you’d be so thoroughly ravished that you wouldn’t be able to get out of bed at all.”

Rolling his eyes, Jean pushes him a little.

“Back off, tiger, we’re in public.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Do I embarrass you?”

“You’re gonna embarrass yourself,” Jean leans forward, “When I make you so hard you can’t stand up without people thinking someone set up a flagpole in your pants.” He licks Marco’s nose then, just as quick as that first time in the cold parking lot.

Marco scrunches up his nose, but he can’t help the way his breath hitches. He conjures up some bravado anyway.

“You think that’s all it takes, huh?”

“I know it is. I know what gets you off.”

“Maybe it’s just that I get off on you, period.” His hand finds Jean's, their fingers winding together easily. They kiss, then, and it feels just as earth-shattering and whole-heartedly meaningful as the first and the last one before this and every time in between. Marco is certain he may never actually get enough of it, but Jean is pulling away before they attract too many stares.

“I’ll drop you off at home after this?” Jean says, completely ruining the mood.

“Why?” Marco frowns. “You said your plans for today depended on what you did last night.”

“They do. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

“Okay,” He can’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. It feels a little petty, especially in the wake of that last kiss, but he can’t help it; it’s possible that now that he has Jean, he wants him even more. And spending the day together seemed like an excellent way to celebrate whatever this new thing is.

“Hey, stop that.” Jean flicks his nose. “Quit looking like I hid gerbil shit in your bed. I’m gonna see you tonight, all right?”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah. But there’s a few details I need to work out first, and since I’m moving more slowly than usual today, I wanna make sure I get them all done.” When Marco still looks crestfallen, he picks up one of his hat strings and rubs the end of it against his freckles until he finally laughs a little. “There. I don’t want you sulking all day, that’s my job.”

“Fine, fine.” Marco leans back and stands. “You ready to go then?”

“Yeah,” Jean shoves the last bit of coffee cake into his mouth and grabs his tea. “Let’s ride.”

Even with Jean’s promise that he’ll call him in just a few hours, it’s still hard for Marco to get out of the car. He’s certain he begs for “Just one more kiss” at least three times, until Jean is finally shoving him against the door. Even then, he lingers outside of it for a moment, letting the cold air in as he tries to make himself let Jean out of his sight. Finally, Jean sighs, and yanks his hat off, holding it out to him.

“It’s dangerous to go alone, take this.”

“Yeah?” Marco blinks, reaching for the hat tentatively. “You sure? Won’t you get cold?”

“Since you seem like such a freaking lost puppy right now, consider it proof of my word. I’m not just gonna up and give you my hat forever, so you can be sure I’ll see you in a few hours to get it back. All right?”

“All right,” Marco consents, smiling. “...are you cool if I wear it?”

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

Marco raises the hat, catching a whiff of his own shampoo and that subtle hint of Jean as it passes his face. When he tugs it down over his head, he feels strangely, and maybe stupidly reassured. But he likes it.

“How do I look?”

“Like a fucking moron.”

“Oh, you shit!” He laughs. “Takes one to know one!”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jean winks at him. “I’ll talk to you in a little.”

“Okay.”

“...you have to shut the door of the car, Marco.”

“I’m trying to think of something poignant to say.”

“Oh my god. Go away!”

“Wait wait, I got it!” Marco darts back into the car quickly, kissing Jean softly and then murmuring, “Good morning, Jean,” as seriously as he can before he gets the giggles.

“GET OUT OF MY CAR!”

Marco does. But he watches until Jean’s is out of sight before he goes inside, and wears the hat for the rest of the day.

-

**> >From: Jean  
hey. I’ll be by to pick you up at 6 pm.**

**> >From: Me  
For??**

**> >From: Jean  
youll see. Wear something nice.**

-

At 6 pm precisely, Jean rings the doorbell. Marco grabs his coat and goes to open the door for him, pausing a little at what he sees. Jean has traded his usual jacket for a dark blue pea coat and Burberry scarf; it’s open enough to reveal the silver button down shirt and tie he’s wearing underneath. It actually takes his breath away for a moment, and Marco is torn between wanting to just stand here for ages and take the view in, or grab him by the tie and drag him inside, whatever Jean has planned be damned.

Instead, he manages “You look great,” and feels both stupid and shy when it comes out sounding like they’re nearly strangers and not two people who spent a good portion of the previous night fucking.

“So do you,” Jean returns, “I told you at Mikasa’s party the tie was a good look for you.”

“I was honestly hoping you’d show up to that party in a tie,” Marco rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But it was obviously worth waiting for.”

“Hmm,” Jean smirks, “You have my hat?”

“Yeah,” Marco hands it to him, and Jean yanks it on. He sputters a little, then sighs. “Well now the image is just ruined.”

“Shut up, you love my hat. I know you were totally wearing it all day, it smells like you.” Jean turns to go down the stairs. “Come on. Our reservation is at 6:30.”

“Reservation where?”

“You’ll see.”

When Jean turns the car back on, Demi Lovato’s “Heart Attack” is playing, and while Marco gives Jean a slight eyebrow raise, the other man just sniffs.

“You got a problem with my taste in music?”

“No, unless you’re trying to give me another secret message.”

“And what would that be?”

“I dunno, something about needing to put up defenses against unwanted feelings?”

“Hmm,” Jean keeps his eyes focused precisely on the road. “Maybe it’s that. Maybe you’re missing the subtleties beneath that, though.”

“Are we really analyzing this?”

“You started it. I just think it’s a good song.” He flicks his eyes toward Marco for a second. “And don’t even start with your Johnny Cash bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Marco raises his hands in surrender. “I’ve learned that lesson.”

They arrive at the restaurant, “Blue,” a short time later. It’s somewhere between mid-level and fairly upscale, a decent number of the patrons dressed casually, but more than a few in fine clothes. The food is good too; Marco’s been here a couple times, usually when his father is in town and offers to buy him dinner because it’s a little above his preferred price range. He wonders about the choice a little when Jean gives them his name for their reservation.

“I wish you’d told me in advance we were coming here,” he whispers as the hostess leads them to their table. “I’d have checked my bank account.”

“Pff,” Jean waves his hand at Marco as they sit, “Tonight’s on me.”

“Jean, no.”

“Marco, yes.”

Marco blushes.

“I can’t have you cover everything.”

“Why not? Isn’t it my turn to buy you dinner?”

“Jean,” Marco glances at the menu, and is chagrinned by the prices all over again. “Fries don’t count.”

“They count to me. I needed those fries more than I could ever tell you.”

“But you made me dinner last night and you paid for that too!”

“Yeah and once upon a time I made you pick up my bill when we were out with Connie and Sasha. Marco,” Jean says sternly, and he glances up in surprise; Jean’s eyes are intense and focused, full of a dark passion that makes him feel dizzy. “I said I’d take you on a nice date to a place with flowers on the table.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No,” Jean points at the little vase sitting at the end of the table with the salt and pepper shakers. “You don’t get to argue. Just shut up and enjoy it.”

“Thank you,” he finally manages, feeling sheepish.

“You’re welcome,” Jean says with a sharp little nod, “Now order whatever you want, but save room for dessert. They have some fucking hardcore looking cake I want to try.”

It’s hard to read the menu when he can barely take his eyes off Jean. _This rollercoaster just keeps going,_ he thinks. But honestly, he doesn’t really mind.

-

“Oh,” Jean spears a piece of what the menu called “big fat chocolate cake," then talks around the mouthful. “I forgot to ask if you talked to Ymir.”

“Yeah,” Marco licks a bit of extra frosting off his fork before going back for another bite of his own, “Last night after you fell asleep.” He probably doesn’t need to tell Jean Ymir was actually in the house; there’s a few things he’s maybe better off not knowing.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You tell her we did it?”

“...she figured it out on her own.” He sucks on the tines of the fork for a moment, studying Jean’s face. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m starting to realize not much that happens in your life gets past her, so. Whatever. But like, did she call because her spidey-sex sense was tingling?”

“No, uh,” Marco sets the fork down and gets his phone out, calling up the text log from the night before. “She wanted to talk about this.”

He sets the phone down on the table, and Jean studies it for a moment, wrinkling his nose in confusion before it seems to dawn on him.

“Holy shit, is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” Marco picks the phone back up and looks at the picture again, feeling that thrill of fond pleasure in his chest. “Christa asked her on her birthday.”

“She waited that long to tell you?”

“We both had some stuff we were trying to work out,” Marco says evenly, catching Jean’s eyes. The other man swallow and nods a little. “But yeah. So...that happened.”

“Wow. Good for her. Nice to know that there’s someone out there for everyone.”

Marco rolls his eyes.

“I’ll assume that was some attempt at a compliment.”

“Take it however you want. Anyway, though, it’s gonna make what I had in mind seem a little lame.”

Marco definitely goes on alert at that.

“Jean…?”

“I wanted to pick a nice place for the venue, but I still don’t know the city very well, so I had to ask Mikasa.”

“You asked Mikasa...where to take me to eat?” His head is swimming at that. It’s almost hilarious - the woman Marco was convinced Jean was so in love with is the reason they’re sitting here right now. He tries to reel his thoughts back in before they get away.

“Yeah, I figured she’d know.” Jean looks nervous suddenly. “I wanted to go somewhere special, like I said. I wanted to treat you to a real date, like you did me the night we got Vietnamese food.”

“You remember…” It spills out, and Jean looks a little indignant.

“Of course I remember. And here’s something else you probably thought I forgot, although like I said, it’s nothing like a giant diamond or anything.” Jean reaches into his coat pocket then, and pulls out two folded pieces of paper. Suddenly looking unsure, he pushes them across the table to Marco. “Um. Yeah.”

With trembling hands, Marco picks them up… and can’t help laughing in delight at what he sees. He’s holding what is titled “Jean Kirchstein Friendship Application.” As he scans the clearly hand-made form, he sees it asks for basic information like his full name and birthday, as well as his preferences for books, movies, music and food types, and an optional space for him to write a few paragraphs on what he considers to be his best qualities. There’s spots at the bottom for him to print his name as well as sign it, and even to date the form.

“Jean,” he can’t help the flood of warmth that fills his words, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I told you I’d have you fill it out. I think you’re a shoo-in, though. I know the committee that decides these things, and you totally have an in with one of them. Also the other two are gerbils.”

“Do I have an in with him because I’ve been inside him?” Marco can’t help asking, and Jean kicks him under the table.

“Rude!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Marco chuckles, “When do you want this back?”

“I dunno, tomorrow or the next day, whenever you get a chance.” Jean looks even more shy now. “You should look at the other form too though.”

Marco had nearly forgotten it. He sets down the “Friendship Application” on the table and then… And then.

He forgets how to breathe.

It’s so silly. It’s on par with that goddamn hat and the endless series of hoops that is so perfectly Jean.

The second paper reads “Jean Kirchstein Boyfriend Application.” Marco scans it will rapidly filling eyes.

_Do you like to cuddle after sex?_

_Are you okay with the fact that I’m kind of an unrepentant asshole and will likely never change?_

His throat is closing. Tears spill down his cheeks and it’s embarrassing, oh god, he’s turning into Ymir and this is years from even considering any kind of marriage proposal. But it doesn’t matter. This means more to him than anything else anyone has ever given him.

Marco keeps reading.

_Would you really be willing to deal with the fact that I’m still kind of fucked up about the bar and what I’m supposed to do with my life and it’s going to be a while before I’m okay?_

_Will you put up with me even on days when I suck more than you’ve already experienced?_

_Can you accept the fact that I turn into a giant baby about my gerbils and will probably need days of intense sex and pizza when they die?_

_If I’m afraid to say ‘I love you,’ will you stop loving me?_

He nearly chokes at the last one:

_Do you really promise to never let me go? Because I’m starting to think I might actually need you more than I ever expected, and I don’t want to fuck this up. I want you to stay._

_By signing this form, you acknowledge your agreement to follow through on all points, and understand that equal terms will be applied to you by the undersigned._

And then, at the bottom, is a place for two signatures: his and Jean’s. Jean has already signed it.

“Oh my god,” Marco finally manages, feeling like he’s been sucker punched in his scar and then about twelve times in his heart just for good measure. “Jean…”

“You um,” Jean is shifting in his seat like he might bolt at any moment, and only sheer force of will is keeping him in the booth. “You don’t actually have to fill that out, I just...I thought maybe it would make you laugh or something, not make you cry, I didn’t...I didn’t know how else to bring it up, and I wasn’t sure if because I’m such a fuck I’d ruined my chances of you even asking me-”

“Jean, shut up.” Jean shuts his mouth with an audible click, staring hard at the half-eaten cake between them. Marco wipes his eyes with his napkin and takes a deep breath. “Do you need this in writing, or can I answer the form right now?”

Jean shrugs, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Whatever, I guess.”

“Yes,” he starts, “I do like to cuddle after sex. I like to cuddle in general, but especially in bed. Usually because it leads to more sex, and I like that. You might have noticed.”

“Mm.”

“I’m okay with the fact that you’re an unrepentant asshole. If you recall, I’ve said more than once that’s the reason I started to like you in the first place. It would be kind of lame for you to suddenly be sunshine and happiness all the time.”

“Well…” Jean trails off before he says anything else.

“I know you’re still messed up over the bar.” Marco can hear his voice growing more sure. “I’m sorry I ever said anything that implied I didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t understand that. I hope you know that everything that’s happened between us has made me rethink myself more than I ever imagined. Growing up is a process, and I don’t expect either of us to do it overnight or even within a few months. But I want to be there when you’re finally okay.”

“Cool,” Jean sounds a little hoarse now. Marco reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing it. When he looks up, his eyes are misty.

“I will always deal with how much you suck, even on the days when you really, really suck.”

“Thanks, Marco, very charitable.”

“If anything ever happens to your gerbils again, I will do whatever you need, be it pizza or sex or maybe even sex on a pizza, if it came to that.”

“That’s disgusting and sounds like something Connie and Sasha would do. Or probably have done.”

“Shh!”

“Sorry!”

Marco has to pause before the next one, though, swallowing and making sure his voice is clear.

“I’m not going to lie. I want to hear you say you love me. But I also know that your feelings for me are a bit newer than mine for you. So I can wait. I can wait as long as you need me to. And no, it won’t make me stop loving you.”

“........okay,” Jean’s shoulders shudder a little.

“And as for the last one,” Marco leans over until he catches Jean’s eyes and holds them. This is it. This is more _it_ than any it before - more than saying it over fries, more than saying it during sex, more than saying it at any other time in any other place in any other world or life. “I promise, I am never going to let you go. Even if you wanted to. You’re mine, Jean Kirchstein. Sucks to be you, or maybe not.” Marco picks up the pen left to sign the the bill, and signs his name neatly, determinedly. Then he pushes the paper back to Jean. “So I guess that makes us boyfriends now, huh?”

“According to this totally legal document, yes.”

“Totally legal.”

“I went to law school. That’s close enough.”

“Definitely close enough by my standards.”

Marco looks at Jean. At his coworker, at his friend, at his lover, at his boyfriend. He slides his foot so it’s next to Jean’s, pressing them together. They fit there too. Finally, they fit together everywhere.

“You wanna get a box for the rest of the cake?” Jean asks, his confidence slowly returning.

“You think we’ll eat it later?”

“I think we’ll be pretty hungry later, yeah.”

“Is your butt up for it?”

“Did I say my tender, sensitive butt would be involved?”

“Oh? Then what are we going to do? Does it involve you sucking? Sucking in different ways than usual?”

“Maybe you should wait and find out, you horny jerk.” Jean grins at him.

Once the box is achieved, and the legal papers carefully folded back in Jean’s pocket, they walk out to the parking lot hand in hand. Marco looks up. The sky is clear and cold and flawless, a thousand points of light scattered in perfect chaos over their heads.

“So many stars out tonight,” he says.

“I fucking love stars.” Jean removes his hand from Marco’s grip to slide his arm around his waist.

“I fucking love you,” Marco replies turning into the hold and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. And this time he kisses the real Jean, instead of just the name on the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you at the after party. <3
> 
> (Or, you know, [on tumblr](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com), where I'm slow but I promise I see and hear and love you all.)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the day, we go back to the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. You guys.
> 
> This is it.
> 
> This is the epilogue. 
> 
> This fic is over 20,000 hits. More kudos than I can count. More words than I ever expected. 
> 
> My notes for this -all the things I still wanted to share with you- are so long that I made a whole "after chapter" of end notes and trivia and little gifts for you guys. 
> 
> I've said it before, but there's no love like crew, and it's true cuz to me, my friends and my family, my clan is these peeps: [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com); [Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com); [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com); [Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com)/[Monkeysocks](http://archiveofourown.org/users/monkeysocks/pseuds/monkeysocks).

_One Week Later_

If he thinks about, it hasn’t even been two full months since the last time there were here.

Marco feels like it’s been a lifetime.

Looking around the booth at their usual bar, he’s struck by how familiar everything seems even though it’s all changed. Bert, tonight just drinking a soda, is working on a crossword puzzle from a copy of the New York Times someone left on one of the chairs in the back corner; Reiner is trying to suggest dirty words for each clue, and Annie is clearly itching to grab the pen away from him and take over - it’s unclear if Bert’s sweating is from Reiner’s raunchiness or fear of Annie’s predatory gaze.

Annie only has one hand, though - the other, placed on the table is wound around Armin’s. Armin himself is deep in conversation with Mikasa about a book called “Wool” - he only read the first chapter and wasn’t sure he cared for it; she’s become quite enamored of it, moreso than anything else she’s read recently. Eren is talking to Connie about...well, Marco isn’t sure what, but it seems very animated. He’s part of Armin and Mikasa’s conversation though too, sort of: his arm is draped across the back of Mikasa’s chair, his hand resting on Armin’s shoulder. Even as he talks to Eren, Connie is passing a plate of fried cheese sticks back and forth with Sasha, the motion so easy neither of them even has to pay attention.

Sasha is cooing over pictures on a cell phone.

What makes this exceptional is that the phone belongs to Jean.

The last time they were all in this bar together, Sasha and Reiner were fixated on driving their antisocial new coworker under the table, and Jean hated all of them. Now Sasha pushes at him playfully while he tries to grab the phone back.

“I said I’d show you pictures of the girls, that wasn’t an invitation for you to look through my whole photo gallery!”

“Your gallery is a wonderland of information about you, Connie, look!”

He glances up from his conversation, and he and Eren both turn to her.

“Why do you have a rat?” Eren wrinkles his nose.

“It’s a gerbil, asshole!”

“Looks like a rat.”

“You look like a rat.”

“Children, behave,” Sasha flips to another picture. “This one is Jessica, right? And this one is Theresa. Aren’t they cute? Connie can we get a pet?”

“I dunno, babe,” Connie looks at the picture thoughtfully, “We just got that cactus, and that’s a pretty big responsibility.”

“A cactus?” Eren snorts, “Seriously dude?”

“Hey,” Connie sits up a little taller, “When was the last time you successfully raised a succulent?”

Eren scowls.

“Armin won’t let me have real plants anymore.”

“HA!” Jean barks unattractively, “Loser!”

“Shut up, dickmunch!”

Marco sighs fondly at the two of them - the more things change the more some things stay irrevocably the same. It’s incredible, though, to see Jean opening up to other people, sharing these little bits of himself. Sure, it makes him the slightest bit jealous that he doesn’t have this private view of Jean’s heart anymore, but at least he has a faint scar on his finger from where Jessica bit him. That has to count for something.

“Hey speaking of pictures,” Sasha hands Jean back his phone, “Ymir sent us a picture of her ring the other day.” She whistles. “What a rock.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Marco can’t help but swell with pride. “Christa really outdid herself.”

“Have they made any more plans yet?”

“I think they started talking about a date in July, maybe?”

“That’s not too far off in terms of wedding planning,” Mikasa chimes in with a frown, “Is that enough time?”

Marco shrugs.

“Neither of them wants to make a huge deal out of it, and with Ymir’s connections around town, they can probably easily get a venue for the party.”

“Man, though,” Connie shakes his head, “Every time I remember Ymir’s getting married, I freak out just a little.”

“It has taken a little getting used to, yeah,” Sasha laughs, biting into a cheese stick and then offering the other half to Connie. He takes it happily. “I guess I just always thought if it was gonna be any of us, the first to get married would be Bert and Reiner.”

Both of the two large men look up at that.

“Really?” Bert frowns. “Why us?”

“....are you serious?” Annie takes advantage of Bert’s momentary distraction to grab the paper away from him, starting to fill in the clues. “You two have been practically married since we were kids. Bert, you’re a already a housewife.”

“And there was that text where Reiner called you his ‘husband,’” Connie reminds him.

“What?” Bert flushes, turning to Reiner who is suddenly very set on the mysteries hidden at the bottom of his beer glass. “When was this?”

“It was nothing. Freudian slip.”

“More like a Freudian faceplant,” Connie raises an eyebrow at them.

“No, Reiner, I want to know,” Bert turns to him. “Have you been thinking about this?”

“Jesus, Bert, do we have to talk about it now?” Reiner shifts. “We’re in public.”

“How is it that you’re okay with telling me that the answer to 17 across, 'Metaphorical Mess’ is ‘cumbath’ in public, but you don’t want to talk about getting married?”

“Oh my god.”

As the primary conversation turns to what is apparently the one thing in the world that embarrasses Reiner, Marco hears the faint signal of an incoming text from his coat pocket and pulls out his phone. As he reads the message, Jean leans against him, hooking his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Who’s it from?”

“Mina,” Marco says, a little wonderingly, scanning through it quickly. “She’s going to Kenya with Nak after all, and she wanted me to know.”

“Cool, I guess?”

“She asked about you, too.”

“Did she?” Jean sounds suspicious. “What did she say?”

“She asked if you were still a garbage can of emotions,” he laughs as Jean recoils, reaching after him to grab his chin and pull him close for a quick kiss. “No, stupid, she was asking if things worked out between us. I’m going to tell her that they’re going great.”

“It’s only been a week,” Jean’s voice has the slightest undertone of nervousness, “Tell her that the jury’s still out or whatever. That’s a legal term.”

“Yeah, it sure is,” Marco quickly taps out a reply. “But I’ve already made my decision and filed it with the judge. It may be a work in progress, but I’m pretty happy with the initial results.” He hits send, and turns back to Jean. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell her I broke my ‘no sharing showers’ sanction. That’s still between us.”

“Whew, that’s a relief.”

“I mean, unless you want me to? I could tell her, you could feel really proud that you cured me of this trauma that haunted me for so many years. Your sexual prowess healed me.”

Jean blushes and shoves him lightly. Marco laughs and leans in to kiss him again, pulling back only when he realizes that their friends have gone silent and are now watching them.

“Um,” Marco clears his throat, “Can I help you guys?”

“Still getting used to that too,” Connie shakes his head.

“Yeah because disgusting and inappropriate shit is totally unheard of with you people,” Jean sneers, and Sasha bursts out laughing.

“Touche, Jean.”

“What’s that saying?” Bert smiles softly, “The more things change, the more they- Annie, hey, that was my puzzle!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it goes,” Eren teases.

“All great quotations involve me somewhere,” Annie intones.

“And many relationships, in one way or another,” Mikasa gives her a rare amused look.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Annie sniffs primly, “Takes one to know one.”

“Oh, yeah, honeyburger,” Sasha puts her hand on Connie’s arm. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I’m sleeping with both Annie and Mikasa.”

“Sasha!” Connie presses the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically, “How could you….do something like that and not let me watch?”

“Why do all our get togethers lately end up in some kind of orgy?” Armin asks, shaking his head. “Emotional or otherwise.”

“Well would you rather it was an orgy of violence?” Reiner smiles, “I think this is a good compromise. And see even Jean’s turned up for the tunnel of love.”

“I hate it when you refer to Bert’s ass that way.”

“ANNIE!”

“All of you are terrible,” Jean scowls, leaning closer to Marco, who slings his arm around his shoulder.

“Then you’re in good company, aren’t you?” Eren asks, then, almost shyly, raises his first to Jean.

Jean hesitates just a moment, looking around to everyone at the table... then bumps it with his own and grins.

“I guess I am.”

-

They ride home together. Marco is glad not to have to drive - they’d stayed up late the night before, laughing and talking and screwing, and then he’d had to get up to open so he’s tired. He’ll sleep in his own bed tonight, if only for the sake of getting some decent rest without the added bonus of getting felt up in his sleep.

He’s leaning his head against the windowpane, still icy to the touch with the lingering winter, and he remembers the ride to the hospital after the incident with the cds. He thinking about Eren asking him “Are you happy?” at Mikasa’s party, and how long ago that seems. He was happy, and then miserable and now… he can’t even quantify it. It’s still only the beginning, and he can’t wait for the ride to really get going; he doesn’t plan on ever getting off.

Marco is starting to drift just a little when a noise pulls him out back to the present - Jean is singing along to the radio very quietly.

“Ohhhh no, I do not hook up uuup, I go slow…”

Kelly Clarkson. Jean’s taste in music completely baffles him, but he can’t begin to begrudge him - thanks in part to Ymir's endless mp3 collection, Marco knows every word of this song. He waits until his boyfriend finishes the chorus, then casually reaches to turn up the volume and joins in.

“I don’t cook no, but I can clean...up the mess she left,” Jean glances over at him startled, but Marco doesn’t meet his eyes yet, “Lay your head down and feel the beats as I kiss your forehead…”

“Jesus, Marco,” Jean laughs softly, embarrassed.

“You started it,” he returns, “Go on. Sing for me.”

“You’re not gonna give me shit about my female pop artists?”

“Who do you think I am? Someone who would rather be a judgy jerk over what you listen to in your car? I only I have so much time to call you on your shit, and there’s so much of it...”

Jean makes a face at him, but by the time the chorus comes back around, they’re both singing loudly, and when they reach “keep your hand in my hand,” Jean reaches across the console and winds their fingers together.

The song fittingly ends as they pull up in front of Marco’s apartment. It says something, Marco thinks, that they don’t even have to talk about whether or not Jean will stay over. Tonight he won’t; tomorrow he might. They’ll take it one step at a time.

Their impending separation doesn’t stop the amount of want poured into their kiss - it only seems to fuel it. Marco drags himself away before he’s completely breathless, brushing his fingertips against Jean’s lips in parting.

“See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in at 11,” Jean licks his fingers slightly, and Marco shudders.

“Til then,” Marco says, and gets out of the car.

He’s just about to shut the door when Jean calls “Hey!”

“Hmm?” He leans back in, “What is it?”

“Is that all?”

“Is what all?”

“‘Til then?’”

Marco raises an eyebrow.

“That wasn’t good enough?”

“You know what you’re supposed to say.”

“Do I?” He can’t help grinning now, even as Jean’s face turns petulant. “Does it mean something special? If you want me to just say ‘I love you,’ Jean, I’m happy to, just-”

“Goddammit, Marco!”

“All right, all right,” he laughs, then brings his hand up to his mouth and blows Jean a kiss. “Good night, Jean.”

Jean mimes catching it and winks at him, and then says something that again, isn’t the traditional way of conveying emotion, but is so perfectly them it hurts. It means as much as "I love you," more than "I’m trying," and somewhere into "this is how it's going to be." That he says it with a smile just brings it all together.

“Good night, Marco.”

Marco remembers the night he started to fall for Jean, and knows he’s never going to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T LEAVE JUST YET!
> 
> Please just click that "next chapter" link one more time...


	22. Chapter 22

WELCOME TO THE AFTER PARTY.

  


Bert and Siggy would like to welcome you. Bert promises Siggy is a total delight, just ignore that "finger across the throat motion" Reiner is making.  


So here you'll find a collection of pictures and trivia and links, and then a big mushy part at the end if you want to stick around until all of the lights go out.

LET'S DO IT TO IT.

-  
All of the apartments/homes visited in the fic are, surprize, based on real places. Here, for your perusal, are the domiciles of our crew:  
Marco:  
  
Jean:  
  
"Castle Armikaren:"  
  
Ymir and Christa:  
  
Reiner, Bert, and Annie:  
[COMING SOON]  
-  
From the beginning of the story, I think it was obvious that my writing is heavily influenced by music, and lots of songs that I find meaningful or just fun seem to sneak into the words. So here's a list of every song mentioned in SYW:  
1.[The Republic Tigers - "The Nerve"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtPdUnR20WE)  
2\. [Nine Inch Nails - "Hurt"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=prDoGmY5kj8)  
3[Johnny Cash - "Hurt"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ahHWROn8M0)  
4\. [Carrie Underwood - "Before He Cheats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WaSy8yy-mr8)  
5\. [That 1 Guy - "Buttmachine"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HOO7s1GCRM)  
6\. [The Lion King - "Can You Feel the Love Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aF4CWCXirZ8)  
7 .[Richard Wagner - "Ride of the Valkyries"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GGU1P6lBW6Q)  
8\. [Bif Naked - "Spaceman"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7saoB6rLxYY)  
9\. [Ke$ha - "Tik Tok"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP6XpLQM2Cs)  
10\. [The Veronicas - "Untouched"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72fPw4fg198)  
11\. [David Gray - "Babylon"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zI_SBAkdKzc)  
12\. [Kelly Clarkson - "My Life Would Suck Without You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEOwiSy79U0)  
13\. [The Juliana Theory - "You Always Say Goodnight, Goodnight"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DRdmY7u1A_4)  
14\. [Stephen Sondheim's 'Company,' performed by Neil Patrick Harris - "Being Alive"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Njm8U3yZBc0)  
15\. [Antonio Vivalid - "Spring"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4kTei0XrCs)  
16.[Semisonic - "Closing Time"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGytDsqkQY8)  
17\. [Demi Lovato - "Heart Attack" 18\. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40cxXdKxE5M)[Kelly Clarkson - "I Do Not Hook Up"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soGffbf83CM)

But what about Ymir's party, you say? Well, here's the playlist for that memorable night, as well as who sang what:  
Ymir: [Bon Jovi - "Always"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQuWaegFz-w)  
Reiner: [Miley Cyrus - "Wrecking Ball"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=My2FRPA3Gf8)  
Mina: Madonna - "Material Girl"  
Christa: [Sia - "Titanium"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yj_alR22hCI)  
Bertholdt: [Leonard Cohen - "Everybody Knows"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lin-a2lTelg)  
Everyone: [The Killers - "Mr. Brightside"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SrkeWsQZNyU)  
Mikasa: [Sailor Moon - "Moonlight Densetsu"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tYXftk1tJzw)  
Annie: [Britney Spears - "I'm A Slave 4 U"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mzybwwf2HoQ)  
Eren: [Taylor Swift - "You Belong With Me"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuNIsY6JdUw)  
Sasha: [Kelly Clarkson - "All I Ever Wanted"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UArYZacDrSE)  
Marco: [Gravy Train!!! - "Sippin' 40z"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pRA5PbVTbQ)  
Bertholdt: [Jay-Z - "99 Problems"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0kF71EaRfI)

It's a bookstore AU, so what would it be without books! Here is, to the best of my knowledge (and memory), every book that was mentioned in the fic. The ones in bold are the ones that I personally have read.  
 ** _Da Vinci Code_** \- Dan Brown  
 ** _On Beauty_** \- Zadie Smith  
 _Catch 22_ \- Joseph Heller  
 _Mercy_ \- Jodie Picoult  
 _Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores The Hidden Side of Everything_ \- Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner  
 _The Name of the Wind_ \- Patrick Rothfuss  
 _The Big Penis Book_ \- Dian Hanson  
 ** _Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH_** \- Richard O'Brien  
 _The Hardy Boys Series (Original)_ \- Franklin W. Dixon  
 ** _Nancy Drew Mysteries (Original) ****_**\- Caroline Keene  
 ** _Where the Red Fern Grows_** \- Wilson Rawls  
 _Fallen Angels_ \- Walter Dean Myers  
 _Tubes: A Journey to the Center of the Internet_ \- Andrew Blum  
 _As I Lay Dying_ \- William Faulkner  
 _Then We Came to the End_ \- Joshua Ferris  
 _Death With Interruptions_ \- Jose Saramago  
 _Some Prefer Nettles_ \- Junichiro Tanizaki  
 ** _Respect For Acting_** \- Uta Hagen  
 _Mrs. Dalloway_ \- Virginia Woolf  
 _The Sound and the Fury_ \- William Faulkner  
 _Finnegan's Wake_ \- James Joyce  
 _Ulysses_ \- James Joyce  
 _Bleak House_ \- Charles Dickens  
 _The Hunger Games_ \- Suzanne Collins  
 ** _House of Leaves_** \- Mark Z. Danielewski  
 ** _The Passage_** \- Justin Cronin  
 _It_ \- Stephen King  
 ** _Heart-Shaped Box_** \- Joe Hill  
 _Whoever Fights Monsters: My Twenty Years Tracking Serial Killers For the FBI_ \- Robert Ressler and Thomas Schachtman  
 ** _Valley of the Dolls_** \- Jacqueline Susann  
 ** _Wool_** \- Hugh Howey

Movies always work their way in too, and I've seen every one of these. Like Connie, I'm still traumatized by the animated version of "NIMH." Stick with the book on that one, brrr. Oh, and see the original "Robocop," not this watered-down 2014 nonsense.  
 **** _The Thing_  
The Jerk  
Apocalypse Now  
The Secret of NIMH  
Ghostbusters  
Robocop ****

Weirdly enough, the only two TV shows I mentioned are BBC productions. If you like to laugh, I suggest you watch the first one, so you can join in on headset quotefests. If you like to want to punch everyone on the TV but you can't look away, try the second. ;)  
 ** _IT Crowd  
Downton Abbey_**

SCAVENGER HUNT IF YOU LIKE SCAVENGER HUNTS THO! There are lots of things I ended up referencing/quoting that I didn't specifically source. And I also put my real name in there somewhere. If you can find each of these references (and my name), send me a list of what they are and where they happen, and I'll write you a drabble of your request in this universe. ;) (Also, if you can find the MST3K one, you are a wizard.)  
Fight Club  
Guys and Dolls  
The X-Files  
Aqua Teen Hunger Force  
Whitney Houston - "I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)"  
Lilo and Stitch  
MST3K  
Bone  
Vikings  
Legend of Zelda  
House MD

Random trivia:  
-In googledocs, this fic runs 279 pages  
-There are 5106 extra words floating at the end of the document - they're things I wrote and then discarded, scenes I couldn't seem to get right, and the original beginning of this fic, which, while very similar, had a different tone.  
-Almost everything that happens within the confines of Survey Books is something that's happened to either me or someone I know during my retail tenure. Some of the events occurred differently - for example, I didn't get a bloody nose when I dropped the stack of "On Beauty" on my face (but man did it hurt)- but they are all based in reality. Even "Homeless Larry David," who may not have been homeless, and who knows what his real name is, but he smelled like chocolate cake soaked in garbage water and he had to be asked to leave.  
-Cameos include 2 magical girls, 2 members of Starfleet, and 1 original character.  
-Like Jean, "Finnegan's Wake" drives me bonkers. I just...it's....HAVE YOU LOOKED AT THAT THING AAARRRGH  
-My personal favorite Starbucks drinks are green tea frappucinos, peppermint mochas, cinnamon dolce lattes, and either green or earl gray tea lattes. That coffee cake too. I mean. I just. Wow. I could eat that all day.  
-These are the images from Armin and Annie's Valentines:  


And then there's me.  
Last fall, I made [this post](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com/post/63806570991) on tumblr. The short version is "I have learned to love again. Also, whoops, I accidentally 'Attack on Titan.'"  


At that time, this story wasn't even a thought so much as a spot on the horizon that I could almost glimpse if I squinted hard enough. My writing and I had been warring for years, and I had never expected to find myself back in love with any sort of anime ever again.  
And then [Joanna Estep](http://joannaestep.tumblr.com), who is responsible for a lot of the creative things I've done since we met seven years ago, gave me a push. Or a shove. Or she tripped me and I fell in a hole. Either way. Nothing was the same.  
This fic is for you, Jo. Like it always is.  


I started writing this fic in December. The first person to look at it was [Feels-Like-Fire](http://feels-like-fire.tumblr.com), one of my very best friends from whom I have the luxury of living downstairs. She loves AOT/SNK, but she's not the flailing rabid weirdo that I am - she's also a very prolific author in her own right, and I wanted her opinion because she'd watched me suffer through several years of writing terrors.  


Thank you, Kat.  


I was fortunate enough, when I reached shyly for betas, to have my hands taken by [Fini](http://rogerthatsergeantbarnes.tumblr.com) and [Tori](http://i-cant-make-witty-urls.tumblr.com), two people who have become very dear to me. Their enthusiasm, their willingness to talk, and their sheer awesomeness has been a driving force, and I'm so lucky to know them.  


Thank you, my darlings. Heichou loves you. (As does Siggy.)  


I get inspired by other writing, and this fandom has so many incredible authors. One of them, though, stood out to me, and what started out as private messages thrown across tumblr became a friendship that is, honestly, one of the reasons this fic ever made it to post. I'd call her a support system, but more than that, [Revolvermonkcelot](http://revolvermonkcelot.tumblr.com), who writes two of my favorite fics, ["Apoptosis"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1075381/chapters/2159522)and ["The Long Way Down,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1037922/chapters/2070428) is without a doubt, my Queen Beyond the Wall. She put up with my madness from the beginning, when all I could say was "but I don't know how to write" to the end, when she would get deranged emails written in the middle of the night, go out and be her awesome self, and still have time to read over my fic and give me her final word. I am, and ever will be, but a knight of fish and onions for her.  


Thank you. You are the hero my fic deserves and the one it needed, and there is a ham sandwich in the sky for you.  


My boyfriend, who is patient and loving, sleeps under a super gay anime blanket with me. He knows how much this has meant to me, has seen the knots that writing has tied me in first hand, and still didn't tell me to go the hell to bed too often when I would stay up until the morning working on this. He's incredible.  


Thank you, nuzz.  


And special love to my guinea pigs, because they are my guinea pigs.  


I got incredible fanart from incredible people: [Mister-marco-bodt](http://mister-marco-bodt.tumblr.com/); [Hachidorikun](http://hachidorikun.tumblr.com/), [Ligur](http://ligur.tumblr.com); []()[Gayfrogking](http://gayfrogking.tumblr.com/); [Rainbowderpyhead](http://rainbowderpyhead.tumblr.com/). I don't know that I've ever truly conveyed how much your work has meant to me. I am so touched that I honestly can't put it into words.  


Thank you, all of you.  


There are so many of you. Lunkytreklock, Ohsnapciera, Silkdragonwings, Nephilimsimons, Flecksofpoppy, Theprophetlemonade, Balliste, Greenalms, Enjouji, Apurpleavocado, Sweggscellent, JoiningJoice... these are just a few of the people I talk to, and honestly, I think at this point I could list everyone who follows me on tumblr.  
So even if I didn't call your name, even if you think I haven't noticed you: I know you're there. I hear you. I can see in the dark. This is getting creepy, reel it back in Amber...  


I know I'm slow to answer comments and asks sometimes, but every one is a treasure to me, and I hope we can be friends.  
All of you who read this fic, all of you who left comments and kudos and came to see me, all of you who are still reading this, please give yourself a hug because I haven't yet figured out how to reach through the computer and do it myself.  
This has meant more to me than any of you can ever truly know. Thank you for making it one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.  


  
Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel like it, or you like pictures of cake, you can visit [my tumblr](http://friedcheesemogu.tumblr.com) for any further insights, crying about SNK, squealing and pictures of me lying on various floors.


End file.
